


A Piece of Work

by thelivingbird



Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Gen, canon relationships included but not driving force of story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:14:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26867974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelivingbird/pseuds/thelivingbird
Summary: Human interaction is an exchange. Marisa Coulter claws her way out of scandal and creates the origins of the GOB.
Comments: 13
Kudos: 14





	1. Family Accounts

Having money meant that you never had to ask permission. This was not the life Marisa Coulter was promised. The whole situation had an extra flair of absurdity considering she wasn’t the one who committed the crime. She was simply the one a crime was committed upon. At least, that was the legal technicality if she was remembering it correctly. It may have written her more as the context than any subject. Regardless, she wasn’t supposed to be punished for this.

Social currency was much harder to restore and not even her lowliest acquaintances weren’t currently amenable to her right now. It turns out that the only thing that people prefer to having someone to flatter them is having someone to step on.

At least out of the country, she could pretend her status remained unchanged. Keeping her wedding ring on and staying in a luxurious villa made her nostalgic for the recent past. Here, people looked away when she walked by out of respect rather than disdain. She packed her finest clothes looking to feel like herself again.

Though this was rather pointless. She spent most of her days out in the dirt and the heat. Marisa was back gathering data on what she already knew was possible, it was essentially a failed vanity mission. However, receiving Bomani’s invitation at a time where she could do little but wait for the phone to ring was too tempting an offer to pass up. He had promised her a new gift. Watching more _zombis_ be created was tedious.

She already had the wheels turning in her head how she would move forward back in Brytain. The Magisterium had already taken to the The League of St. Alexander, but they were more concerned with finding a respectable name to head the campaign all but shoving Marisa out of her own project. Marisa had whispered a few of the right names in the right people’s ears. She needed someone who would be easy to strongarm should the league try to break its ties with her completely.

Bomani interrupted her thoughts with the gentle clink of glasses. “Bored?”

“Your invitation implied more than the usual circus.”

He set her glass of red in front of her. “Can it be true that your incessant questioning has ceased?”

“I understand how your creatures work.”

“I should apologize.” Bomani was stretching his legs out. Perhaps the gossip had made its way across the ocean. Since Marisa arrived, he had begun to toe the line between them. He had always remained notably un-flirtatious with her, something Marisa appreciated in her visits. The last time she was here was with Asriel. Maybe that was why. “I didn’t invite you here to see them again. I invited you here to give you a gift.”

“Surely you could have sent it in the post. Or is it too large to fit in a box?”

“No, it could fit in a box, but best to hand it over with some instruction.” He took a long sip of his wine. “I hear you’ve been enjoying your luxuries this time around.”

“Bomani.”

“Right, ever the impatient one.” He reached into his bag that was dropped lazily on the ground. Half open already he rummaged around until he pulled out a small wooden box and placed it on the table tapping it twice.

Marisa traced the delicate symbol carved into the middle. “Now I see why I had to come all the way here for this.”

The golden monkey put his hands on the table to peer at the items. He was desperate to reach out and play, but he knew his companion better than to test her mood in front of Bomani. His daemon was keeping an eye on the monkey, eager for a reaction.

“It would’ve been intercepted before it ever reached your residence. Especially considering the more watchful eye you’ve found yourself under as of late.”

Marisa couldn’t help but huff at the comment. Word travels fast and far. “Right.”

“Do you know how to use them? Think of them like bloodhounds.”

“I’m familiar with the concept. Why am I the lucky one to receive these, hm?”

He finally broke his gaze from her and stared forward. Ahead of them was a group of his men testing the limits of the _zombis_ morality or if there was a limit at all. There was hardly a scream when one was forced to chop off the other’s hand. Marisa sighed.

“Consider this the ink on the contract of our partnership. After today, I’m sure you’ll hurry back to your Brytain and begin work on your next move. I can only assume the research you’ve done with us will play a part. There may very well come a time in the near future where your resources will be of use to me.”

“A professional partnership then.” Marisa took the box in her hands. If she didn’t know better, she would say could feel the hum of the spy flies within. “But I take this means you won’t be donating to my cause?”

“Your cause is something I have yet to see any benefit for myself in. Take these as a gesture of good will and the _potential_ of more to come.”

“I can’t work on potential.”

“I believe you’ll find a way.” Bomani raised his glass, “To your future. May it be bright.”

She indulged him and raised her glace against him taking only a light sip. “What’s the little saying? Nowhere to go but up?”

“Marisa.” Another over step of familiarity from him. “There is always farther to fall.”

The fabric was making her skin itch. She could only imagine the state her hair would be in when she would be free from this horrible cap. All too committed to keeping a low profile for her stop in Geneva on the way back, she neglected to pack her silk lined hats. Even the lining of her gloves chaffed her knuckles as she clutched her bag to her side.

Only moments until she was home.

Marisa knocked on the door before glancing around for any possible witnesses. The old hinges squealed to reveal her brother with her miserable expression slapped on his face.

“You’re late. You left me alone with her.” He was being terse.

The owl flapped her wings on her perch at the sight of the golden monkey.

“The cab driver decided to take me on the scenic route.”

“To bring up the fare.”

“Or to get a longer look.” Marisa stepped inside.

“Not in those clothes. Is this what that man has done to you?”

Marisa removed her cap with a scowl. “I was emulating you, Marcel. It seems to work. Mostly.”

Marcel picked up the cap and sniffed it. “It even smells. Do you have dandruff now? Stress can do that to you.”

“I don’t have dandruff. It’s the fabric.”

“Maman will never support this idea of yours with you in this state.”

“I thought she might take pity on an unfortunate soul.”

“Pity,” Marcel huffed. “If you inspired pity in that woman I’d say you only need two more miracles to achieve sainthood.”

“Yes, I know.” Marisa removed the cheap heels and began rubbing her feet where she stood. The fabric of the stocking was already beginning to break down. A toe had broken through. “I’m going to get changed. Don’t announce my arrival until I’m done.”

Marisa began sneaking up the stairs so quietly and so completely in tune with the floorboards weaknesses that it could only be attributed to deep muscle memory. The golden monkey had climbed onto her shoulder as she balanced from step to step. She didn’t even have to look at the ground.

Marcel leaned against the bannister watching her go. “Are you really not going to talk about it?”

“Hm?” Marisa pressed her lips together before pausing on her route. “What do you expect me to say?”

“I expected some sort of explanation.”

“As if the sort of thing hasn’t happened before. Milkman’s baby and the like. Not much to say on the matter.”

“ _Your_ milkman however is considerably more infamous and as it appears more volatile. I suppose your luck had to run out at some point, Marisa.”

She didn’t bother responding. Soon enough she would be confronted with a far more delicate personality. She didn’t have time to tend to two egos this evening. Instead, she would busy herself with a warm bath and a shot of gin. Her pores opening up to let the effects take her faster. The monkey sat facing away tugging at his fur.

Once in her old bedroom, her ability to keep away her daemon’s anxiety started to weaken. Marisa flinched at the sound of footsteps moving down the hall only to realize the flat-footed steps belonged to her brother. Doors opened and closed and she didn’t move until the house was silent again.

The dress she chose was black with white lining. It was simple, but made her look clean cut in a pinch. More importantly, it made her look younger than she was. Someone peaking in might have thought this was a school girl returning home for the break rather than a widow begging for scraps. As Marisa looked at herself in the mirror, she felt something knot in her chest.

Marcel knocked at the door softly. “She’s having dinner be set now.”

The golden monkey handed Marisa her shoes. Kitten heels. For a moment she thought she heard her daemon chuckle at her.

“I’ll be right there.”

She came down the stairs as quietly as she went up them. Marcel was leaning against the archway to the dining room watching the servants arrange the table. It was in the same spiral pattern she knew as a girl.

Marcel sighed, “They had to restart. They had only set two places.”

“Thank you.”

“She knows you’re here now.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. “She’s going to wait to make an entrance. Probably act surprised when she sees you.”

“I’m expecting it.”

“She’s more curious than me. Won’t hold back with her questions.”

The golden monkey’s hands twitched to grab hold of his own fur again. Marisa put a soft hand on his head. “Not surprising.”

Marisa shooed the staff of from making their small adjustments. To her, that meant they wanted to eavesdrop. Ears would probably be pressed against doors that night, but the least they could do is put up a pretense.

She chose the seat with the back to the entrance forcing her mother to greet her first whenever she decided to arrive. Marcel sat across from her. Both siblings on the long ends of the table. The one place neither of them would gravitate to the head. Marisa was close to convincing herself that her brother was on her side, but his owl daemon perched herself on the fireplace mantle overlooking the whole room. The disdain was palpable.

The hands of the golden monkey clutched at Marisa’s ankles as the sound of heels hitting the floor came nearer. She promised herself she would not turn around to look. Instead, she watched through Marcel’s eyes which widened as the sound increased. He looked back to Marisa and smiled.

The voice cracked through the silence, “Oh dear. It appears I’m overdressed.”

Madame Delamare settled into her seat at the head. The furs of her dress and overcoat crowding the chair’s frame. Earlier, Marisa was thinking of the perfect first thing to say when she saw her mother, but now she was distracted by the bright pink scalding her eyes.

“It’s good to see you again, maman.”

Marisa’s mother let out the combination of a snort and a giggle, “It only takes a national scandal to get my children to come home to me.”

Marcel was already digging into the dinner. “I visit plenty more than Marisa does.”

“You live in town,” Marisa reminded him.

“How is my granddaughter?”

“Maman, that’s not what I’m here to talk about.”

“No, by the way you are dressed I’d say you’re here to seduce a priest. Oh, if only that was the case. At least Lord, ehm what was his name, at least he was handsome. Handsome lover and a handsome husband. You had a lucky couple of years, my dear.”

Marcel choked on his chicken. Marisa pulled at the skirt of her dress while she kicked her brother under the table. The owl gave out a hoot. Madame Delamare’s lizard daemon let itself onto the table causing Marisa to hold back a gag.

She placed a flat hand on the oak surface. Keeping her eyes downcast and adding just enough quiver in her voice she spoke, “I’ve been humiliated and abandoned by everyone. I have made penance for my shame. Already my invention, The League of St. Alexander has become a success over in Brytain. However, it is a government operation and the profits are virtually nonexistent. All I want, all I can have anymore, is work to get by.”

Marcel spoke into his glass, “I heard someone from the CCD came and took that operation from you.”

“You have Edward’s money.” Madame Delamare took a large bite of food. “They say the girl takes after her father. Is that true? Shame. I suppose that blessing of a face has to be a rarity.”

“Edward’s money won’t last. I’ll be out on the street. My work will allow me to provide for myself, but more than that it will provide the world with-“

“Spare me your grandiose ideas. At least your brother has realistic expectations of what he is capable of. And why don’t you get remarried, dear?”

“I don’t think that’s the best course of action.”

“No,” she laughed “I shudder to think of your pick of second husbands.”

“This will bring not only me, but the whole family into one of the most powerful positions on the world stage.”

“What is your work, exactly?” Marcel piped up.

“In the range of experimental theology, of course.”

“That’s specific.”

Marisa considered how much she could tell them. They wouldn’t accept something so vague, but the truth may not win them over either. “You’ve heard of Rusakov Particles.”

Madame Delamare tutted, “Dirty work. Even I know that.”

“Marisa, you can’t be serious.” Marcel rolled his eyes.

“I am serious. As you two so obviously like to hint at, my reputation is not pristine at the moment. I can create the foundations of what _will_ become a major topic for years to come. I will be ahead of every experimental theologist. If I start my research now, with funds from a private company, we will _own_ Dust. It’s not dirty work if we find a way to control it.”

“I will not allow Thuringia Potash to put its name to such a thing. We don’t value making spectacles of ourselves.”

Only her own mother could make her feel naïve. How could she pass up an opportunity to drag her over the coals over a once in a lifetime public shaming. Perhaps Marisa suffered from a bout of optimism due to reading some story as a child encouraging her to always try. _If you don’t try, you’ll always fail_. Maybe so, but at least you won’t suffer time in your childhood home while your mother and brother sneer at you.

“You will regret this soon enough. I can go to other members of the board. Look how well the expansion to weapons manufacturing went? Half your current profits are because of me.”

“The board members will do nothing.” Madama Delamare smiled. “They still have a sense of respect. Your father’s gone, and they still listen to me first and foremost. The only reason your little arms campaign turned into anything was because I gave my permission.”

“Marcel?” Marisa glared at him.

“They came to me first and then they asked for maman’s thoughts on the matter.” He ran the tips of his fingers across the table. “As for this new matter, I will not support you in this. The existing research on the Rusakov Particles come from a dead mad man. Even if you find anything of worth, no one will invest in it. It’s a path to nowhere.”

“What do you know?”

“I’m sure you’ll find other means to fund your special project,” he said dryly. “You should wait for things to cool down for you over in Brytain before stirring up more trouble.”

“Until then what do I do? Stay _here_?”

Madame Delamare put her hand on her daughter’s. It made Marisa want to jump out of her skin. “A little advice dear, though you hate to take it, find a rich dumb husband and get out of Brytain.”

Marisa Coulter sat in her empty flat. Half the staff had quit after the news broke. Apparently for some, a sense of moral superiority was more important than a pay check.

She was lounging on her couch with an open bottle of tokay considering Bomani’s gift before her. It was all she had to show for her trip. After Geneva she had made a quick stop in France only too be met with the same knowing smirks she had become accustomed to at home. Avoiding donors from Brytain had been her priority, but her international connections had either been uninterested, uninformed, or her family.

The box laid on the table open. The spy flies in their place. Tomorrow, she would start again and find those weak willed and deep pocketed enough to take for everything. Tonight, she would push her luck one more time. The scarf she wrapped around her hand was a thin white thing meant to be draped under the lapels of a coat.

Marisa laid it flat on the table and gently placed a single spy fly on top of it. The clockwork within began to tick allowing the spirit to glow from the inside. If she was caught with this now, she would be throwing herself in the cage she just narrowly avoided. But there was smiling as the spy fly lifted into the air and set out for its course into the night.


	2. Old Friends

The applicants were never the sort of people Marisa would find herself with naturally. A shaky blushing sort of bunch, half of whom she had to assume were only there to get the chance to say they met the woman herself. She had started her search looking for an educated girl from a good family, but the only one of those who bothered responding only passed her exams because of her skills on her knees. Marisa didn’t need people saying she was building a bordello. Other candidates were plenty reserved, but either so dim witted or so shy Marisa couldn’t imagine putting them to work as anything other than a side table.

As these things can happen, Marisa was about ready to give up before hope walked through the door.

Her dress was obviously second hand, but very well cared for. The hair suggested she may have a sense of style, though immature. The posture was practiced and so was the blank expression she kept on her face.

Marisa eyed the resume suspiciously. “A recent graduate?”

“I worked throughout school.”

“Not many do.” Marisa tapped the name at the top. “Starminster is an interesting family name. I don’t believe I know it. Have I met your parents?”

Adele fidgeted the first time since the interview started. “Well, I’m not sure.”

“No, probably not. If you’re going to try to sound more posh you could do a little better.”

“My advisor suggested I change my name when seeking employment to yield better results.” Adele didn’t break eye contact when she said that. “Is this going to be a problem?”

“Not unless the family you’re covering up is going to cause any problems for me. Any skeletons in the closet I should be concerned about?”

“Your reputation should not be affected by me or my family.” The tone of her voice gave Marisa momentary pause, but it was a great relief to be presented with a candidate with an education and a backbone. Though a woman working under a false name could be eager to please or prove something. Either way it could lead to dangerous risky choices Marisa could not afford, but she had to risk nonetheless.

“I can offer you a trial run. Let’s see if this is a good fit. You’ll be compensated, of course.”

“What exactly do you mean?”

“I have plans outside of London in these coming days. I would like you to go meet with this household on my behalf.” Marisa slid a card across the table. “Just a simple task. I need you to drop off an item that was lent to me. Mrs. Kline may ask you to stay for tea, you’re to humor her if that is the case.”

“And?” Adele picked up the card as if she was testing it for some extra weight.

“And?” Marisa stood up. “That’s all.”

“That’s the trial run? A return and possibly some tea?”

Marisa went out the door without looking back. “Shouldn’t be much of a problem, I assume?”

“Well, no. I suppose it won’t be.”

The golden monkey had busied himself with the chore at hand. He was carefully wrapping up the parcel and tying a fashionable little bow around it for good measure. The butterfly daemon followed Marisa before Adele did. Only standing now, did Marisa acknowledge how close in age they were. A handful of years between them and Marisa had married and been widowed. Adele was just stepping into the world. Then again, Adele clearly didn’t come from money.

Marisa picked up the parcel and handed it to Adele. “You’re impressive on paper, Miss Starminster, but let’s see how well you do in practice. You have the address. I suggest you send word to the Klines before you arrive. They don’t take kindly to surprises.” She extended her hand.

“I have the job? Just like that?” Marisa would have to teach her to tone down her expressiveness.

“As I said, a trial run. Consider this another stage in the interview process.”

“And you’re leaving now for-“

“For out of town.” Marisa began walking her toward the exit. “You are the one on the way out, and call me a car to be here in an hour.”

“Yes, Mrs. Coulter.” Adele’s shoulders curved forward. The good posture was a conscious decision, not a trained one. Marisa supposed she was too old to go through those lessons now.

It was very nice to be addressed with some reverence once again.

The door was about to close before Marisa stopped Adele with one last question itching in her mind. “You don’t read the papers, do you, Miss Starminster?”

“I read them obsessively.” And the door shut.

She had some tact after all.

Marisa’s plans outside of London were barely over an hour away.

She liked to leave him still panting with a shimmer of sweat visible on his body. He watched her as he caught his breath. She pinned her stocking back up covering herself quickly, but never completely. It was to give him enough time to regain his wits and pull her back to him. But it was always too late to even the score. She had him still bare while she had one foot out the door.

He hated it, but it was a small game he was willing to play in order to get her back in his bed.

Asriel toyed with the border of the stocking fabric. “Is this performance sincere or can I begin my work?”

“I haven’t decided.” She wanted him to shut her up and undo her carefully arranged silks and lace adorned on her body, but for this moment she held herself still, curious as to his mood. Waiting to see if it was about to change for the worse.

“What do I owe today’s visit to, hm?”

“In town on business.”

Asriel dropped his head into the soft flesh right below her shoulder. “Business, hm, yes I think I recall you seem to have many ties here in Oxford. Why not move your primary residence here? A place with a spare room for the staff.”

She rolled her hips forward just a small fraction. “You know why.”

“Problems, problems.” His hand now held one of her breasts. “No solution in sight.”

Her fingers began to trace the muscles up his arm, to his shoulder, to his chest- until they were interrupted by a firm grip on her wrist.

“Do I have you for the day, or don’t I?” His tone became more clipped. “My tolerance for you is at a record low.”

Marisa tried to lean in, keep him quiet, but he pulled away. The grip on her wrist was unwavering.

“Well?”

“We have things to discuss,” she conceded, “but it doesn’t have to happen just yet.”

Asriel’s lower lip dropped as if to give one last biting comment, “Not just yet.” He returned to her, making up for however long it had been since the last time he had the chance to press her so close.

Outside, there were concepts such as history and consequences. Inside, the only law of the universe was the energy passed between two people as they shuddered against each other in the haze of a claustrophobic, poorly kept bedroom. She kept her hand soft on his throat ready to suppress any unruly expression threatening to make the pair of them discoverable. He held his desire on the tip of his tongue.

Information was threatening to escape through the fingertips. She wouldn’t let him linger too long over her upper thighs or lower belly. The evidence of _her_ lived there now. The tracks reminding Marisa that the problem was far from gone, simply removed. She could feel his mind stutter as he grazed over them. His eyes involuntarily being drawn to the unfamiliar territory on a body he thought was memorized.

The attention was being given deliberately today. Asriel was trying to coax out a sincerity in her that she had no intention to share, even if she knew where within herself to mine it from. She pinned him down, the hand around his throat got tighter. His hands wouldn’t leave her hips. It looked like he was about to say something.

She stole the truth from him just before she was about to unravel herself. Teeth broke the flesh of the lip as she held his face to hers. She disappeared from between his arms once again. He was forced to watch as she hid her body from him with the sheet, a new gesture in these new circumstances.

“I’d like to crawl inside you,” he was tracing the length of her spine, “wear you like a skin suit.”

“Is that your idea of being romantic?”

“It’s my idea of _you_.” He kissed her between her shoulder blades.

“They say you’ve been secreting off to the north again.” Her gaze went to the withering beige curtains.

“Who is _they_ , exactly?”

“I am not playing with you, Asriel.”

A finger ran across the bright red wound on his lower lip. “Anymore.”

It used to be fun, all of this. They used to be able to let go and free fall into their own little world. And although she could never be sure of it herself, Marisa used to like to pretend that she loved him. Then the world entered the room and Marisa and Asriel tested each other. Who would give up the most? Who needed these visits more? Marisa’s eyes traced the scar that she made on Asriel’s thigh last time she was here.

“Well?”

“My work has always been in the north.”

“Yes, but you didn’t use to leave in the cover of night.”

“How can it be secret if I’m being tracked.”

“It’s in the attempt.”

“And you?” He rubbed his jugular. “What international adventures have you gotten up to? A visit south?”

“I had to leave here for a little while. Create some space.”

“The advantage of money.”

Only briefly, she wondered if he was looking for a wife. A wealthy empty woman who will write checks for his dream and bed him when he asks. In her mind, she imagined gouging out this faceless woman’s eyes.

“Oh, stop whining. You’ve been poor for only a few months and you think you’re in tune with class consciousness.”

Between all this she still hasn’t started to get dressed. There’s nowhere to rush off to, and besides it will be easier to obscure her face from those inclined to peer through cracked doors if she waited for the light to fade.

“Not poor, broke.” He smiled.

Marisa spoke so softly it was almost a whisper, but nonetheless she sent her words to him like a hammer being released on a gun. “And still you live like you always did. With everything.”

“If that’s how you see things.” He leaned over the side of the bed and handed her the ruined clothes. 

That evening, Marisa sat in a near empty cigar room rationing bites of liver that had already cooled on her plate. Asriel said one last things before closing the door behind her. He had no intention to interfere with her work. He still thought his intentions counted for something. If Marisa was judged by her intentions, she would have found herself isolated much earlier in life.

Jonas Kline with his legs crossed, the foot in the air tapping away, looked at her sideways. He threw back two glasses of scotch without getting into anything of substance. Marisa hoped this would free him of his judgements and make his body too tired for anything else.

“It really was no issue at all.” Marisa could hold a coin between her knees. “And I could understand why you wouldn’t have wanted to make the trip to London.”

He blushed or was it the alcohol, “Ah, well.”

“Yes, well. Can’t be seen meeting me at my flat.” He leaned forward, but Marisa held a hand up. “As I said I understand.”

He fell back into his cushioned seat, slouching a little. “It is a pleasure to see you, Marisa, but what you’ve come here to talk about… I can hardly wrap my head around the reason why you sought _me_ out to support you in this. Based on your recent history, I can assume you’ve done little to nothing to support my Watercourse Bill. In fact, I believe it was your lover that led parliament against it.”

Jonas wanted a reaction from here, and while she wanted to roll her eyes at him, she faked some embarrassment for his benefit. “I was very disappointed to see that bill fail to pass, but I assure you that what I have in mind for the future will surpass what you hoped to accomplish through parliament.”

“I could be interested, but you have been dodging my questions about the specifics of your venture. At most, you’ve mentioned that Bonneville fellow, which is hardly a name any of us want to be associated with. Dead or not. Not that yours is currently worth much after your, what shall I call it I wish to be polite, lapse in judgement.”

“He will not be named in anything I publish; I assure you.”

“I believe you but,” Jonas refilled his glass again, “I can’t invest in something I only have vague notions about how in terms of how it will benefit me. You say that your work will help get the Gyptians out of my hair. Screaming in my ears about whatever upset them this week. But how?”

Marisa kept her tone even and low, “Jonas, I am laying the groundwork now. As my project gains its legs, so too will you be kept apprised of all the goings on. I cannot be expected to expose myself to someone who has made no concrete commitment to it.”

His lips twitched at her phrasing. A dig she set up for him to make, but whatever was rolling around in the folds of his brain was too vulgar for even the alcohol to allow it. “You’re in no position to be leveraging anything against me.”

“Maybe not you, but your son, no?”

Sobriety hit Jonas like a thunderbolt. It gave Marisa butterflies.

“Your son, who is set to take your seat as soon as you admit you’re too old to be holding it anymore. Yes, once you get your claws out of the past, he will be the one carrying the duty and maintaining the Kline family reputation. One built on strong values and all those pretty clichés.”

“My son,” he swallowed wetting his dry throat, “Is finishing his education on the continent.”

“ _Re-education_ , some may call it. Correct?” Marisa stood up cleaning up the empty glasses and decanter. Making herself useful. She continued to speak as she tidied up the old room. “It could do him good to be caught in his own _lapse in judgement_ as you call it.”

Jonas scoffed, “Oh? And you offer yourself?”

“Of course not.” She returned to stand over him. “I have another girl in mind. If I can count on the value of your investment.”

“I don’t have enough to- people handle my books- my-“

“Hush now, we can start in small installments.”

“Enough to give whatever this thing is, some legs?”

She extended her hand. He took it. “It will be running before you know it.”

Marisa was removing her jewelry when she heard the request to enter ring off.

Adele entered in the same clothes she was wearing the day of her interview. Marisa would have to kindly request that she spend some of her first paycheck on a more diverse wardrobe.

Adele spoke softly, “Mrs. Kline asked me to sit for tea.”

“I do hope you’re here to tell me something more useful than the simple fact you completed the task you were assigned.”

“At least that means I completed my trial run.”

“I suppose.”

“She was surprised you hired me.”

“Naturally.”

“She opened the parcel in front of me.”

“Oh?” Marisa smiled.

Adele had not moved from her spot. Her expression was blank, but each of her words came with weight attached to them.

“Photograms. You weren’t returning anything at all. You were blackmailing her?”

“Her and her husband.”

“Her _son_. It’s cruel. She tried to hide it, but I saw it before she could shut the box again.”

“And do you have an issue with that? You are aware of the Kline family’s political record, aren’t you? I’m surprised you feel any sort of sympathy for them.”

Before Adele could speak again, Marisa turned down the hall towards her office. The money from Jonas was already in her account and it felt good to scribble some ink on a cheque after some time.

Returning to where Adele was mounted in the hallway, she waved it in the air. “Your advance, if you wish to stay employed.”

Adele watched the piece of paper. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Shaping the future seldom comes without a cost. If someone has to suffer, wouldn’t you rather it be a family like that? Besides, the secret will never get out. You can rest easy. But people like us need leverage to get by. Do you understand that?”

Marisa had to pull at the golden monkey’s fur. Putting herself on equal standing with Adele did not sit right with her, but moments like these, idealists prefer an appeal to emotion. Adele took the cheque. The butterfly daemon fluttered to her shoulder peering at the amount.

“Is there anything else you need, Mrs. Coulter?”

“No, that will be all. Goodnight Adele.”

Marisa suppressed the urge to let out a laugh as Adele walked away. Ideals always live in the shadow of a long line of zeroes.

A hum came to the window. Something was knocking against glass. A final glance at the door, and Marisa hurried over to the patio. A single red eye glowed in the dark. Marisa flung open the door, allowing the spy fly to land in her hand.

“There you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure what the schedule will be like for the upcoming chapters, but I thought I'd drop two within a week cause what the hell. Going forward, this should be a weekly thing at least.


	3. Strangers in Uppsala

Uppsala was unusually warm for the time of year. Marisa wasted valuable packing space on her precious furs and wouldn’t even be able to show them off. Not unless the alethiometrist had a special interest in sweat. She would have to greet him in a simple and unimpressive look, meant to accentuate outer layers, not stand on their own. Maybe the look would make her come across as modest. No, that option has picked up and left. It would emphasize her youth and vulnerability. Both of which, unfortunately, were not lies.

The alethiometrist was grinding his teeth waiting by the entrance of the pristine concrete building. The sun shone of the grease he used to slick back his hair. A lock shot up as he absentmindedly ran a hand through it. It was then that Marisa walked up the stairs to greet him.

“Apologies for the delay,” Marisa kept her tone flat.

“Right, alright.” He held open the door for her without making eye contact. “Come along, then.”

She couldn’t get a clear read on his age, striking her as both ancient and young. Perhaps an old man decorating himself to look more youthful. Perhaps a young man trying to hold himself like a seasoned official. His face could belong to any time. A hazard of his trade, Marisa liked to think.

He led her down the halls, keeping his body directly in front of her as if they were ants. As they neared the alethiometer, the looks from those passing lingered longer.

“Don’t mind them,” he sighed, “They look down on my research.”

“I’m sure that will change soon enough.”

The alethiometrist huffed and shook his head as he went through the next door. Marisa couldn’t help but feel just the smallest bit charmed by his insolence. She shut that away at once. Her being charmed wouldn’t help her now.

Marisa walked into the sparse room and shut the door behind her. The alethiometrist shuffled through papers that were left scattered across his podium. Careless.

“Lord Boreal wrote to me yesterday. He said you’re interested in Bonneville’s work. An unpopular subject at the moment.”

“Bonneville’s work is hardly the ground I stand on, but essentially, yes. You could say that’s why I’m here.”

“I’m not afraid of him.” He spoke with the confidence of a man that’s never meant Bonneville. “I wouldn’t mind if he was the center of this questioning.”

“I’m sure.” Marisa stepped closer. “It’s very kind of you to make time for me today.”

“Mrs. Coulter, what’s your question? I have my notes at the ready for you.”

“Questions,” she emphasized the “s.”

For the first time since he ground his teeth at her outside, the alethiometrist held her eyes. “Well?”

“Rusakov Particles are connected to our consciousness, yes?”

“That’s written in the-“

“That wasn’t one of my questions. How many subjects have been studied in relation to the particles? Is the relationship to the particle consistent between subjects? Has a source been identified?”

“Ma’am.” She had never been called that before. “No group of subjects have been thoroughly studied in relation to the Rusakov Particle.”

Marisa was aghast. “At all?”

“The work so far is purely hypothetical. The alethiometer makes no suggestion that anyone has even attempted it.”

“But the work revolves around the connection of the consciousness.”

“It suggests future possibilities in connection to it, but no. The only answers I can give are what I’ve gleaned from the alethiometer.”

“Why,” Marisa stuttered, “Why on earth do you think I’m here if not to hear those answers?”

He finally smoothed down that rogue lock of hair. “Well then. If you must know, the alethiometer suggests that yes, there is quite a variety when it comes to who is exposed to Dust, though the specifics on who and why are left mysterious to me. We can only glean the meaning at looking at humanity as it stands. Who possessed the advanced capabilities of the mind to be exposed the most?”

“You’re suggesting that the particle is critical for our mental faculties?”

“To function at a first rate, yes. Take the primitive types of-“

“So, would you say, a newborn may be-“

He held up his hand to quite her. “Yes, I suppose so. Not, that it means much.”

“Tell me.” Marisa began pacing the perimeter of the room. All these books, and this man could barely string a paragraph together to make her trip to Uppsala worth her while. “In terms of the subjects’ mental faculties, how well does the consciousness function when deprived of Dust?”

“Deprived?” He sputtered. “Mrs. Coulter, we’re only speaking of exposure at this point. It’s everywhere, as we understand.”

“As you understand at this point. For now.” She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him. “I thank you for your time and your _infinite_ patience. If I may, I have one more question. On a different topic, if that isn’t too much of a bother. For your alethiometer.”

“Lord Boreal said I was to humor you. I suppose one question is alright.”

Carlo would want extra attention when she returned. Fine, if this alethiometrist could manage a simple question, so be it.

“Who is Lyra Belacqua?”

Marisa was jostled in the back of the car as the roads turned to dirt and stray stone. She was left to think about the small answers she was given. Stars without the constellations formed between them. The girl wouldn’t be a threat in the near future. Not at all. But if Marisa didn’t find a way to get to her, past all of Asriel’s ridiculous terms with Jordan, she may become the divot in Marisa’s path. The car bounced to a stop.

“Ma’am.” Second time today. “According to the information you gave me, this is the location.”

Seemed like the sort of hole he would tuck himself away in. Marisa worried for her heels in the mud.

“Thank you.” And she stepped out of the car to face the expanse of land before her.

A small wooden home sat like a fly in ointment on the horizon. Marisa took off her shoes to walk the way barefoot. The soil was soft and muddy. She wiggled her toes in it. Hopefully, he hadn’t forsaken all the comforts of home and had a small tub and warm running water for her feet. The skin was turning more and more blue with every step.

She knocked on the chipped door. A man in clothes too expensive to match the home he was living in answered. The color on his face drained as he took in the young woman standing in front of him.

“Marisa?”

“It’s good to see you, father.”

If it weren’t for the grey that had taken over his hair and the darkness that had pooled under the flesh of his eyes, Marisa would’ve said that he hadn’t aged a day. The bachelor lifestyle is good for the body, it looked.

Delamare held the handle of the door with an iron grip. His body took up the frame of the entryway. Marisa warmed at the familiar sensation of another person’s fear.

“You look well.” He peered around the corner. “Is your brother with you?”

“Marcel doesn’t know I’m here.” She held up her shoes in her hands. “Are you going to invite me in?”

“Yes, of course.” Delamare let the door open completely.

The inside of the home was decorated wall to wall. The outside of the house was an illusion. The performance of poverty. The furniture gleamed from within. The carpets were clean and complex. Inside this little set piece, her father was the same man she had remembered: decadent and soft.

“I have to admit, I was expecting to find you under one of your aliases. Alexander Beaumont, Joshua Lee, Hugh Arnold… I think Damian Nice was my favorite. But to use your own name to settle down? Our name?”

“How long have you been tracking me?” He grumbled, but Marisa would not answer. “There are other Delamares in the world.”

“Not all living a lonesome life in Uppsala, I would say.”

“No, but probably not presumed dead.” He rested a hand on the table. “Does she know?”

“We kept the secret, though I still haven’t decoded the wisdom you thought it was that told you to tell two adolescent children you were about to spirit away into the night. It would have been better if we thought you were dead.”

“That’s not true. You wouldn’t be here if you thought that, cashing in a favor, blackmailing me.”

“Words about being there if we needed you feel empty considering we had no first clue about where to locate you.”

“I knew you could if you needed me. You did.” He was settling in to his old role faster than she expected he would. Always an answer to everything said in the most reasonable tone even if the content itself was unreasonable. A blind cockroach will still persist.

“I could’ve used you at home.”

“Is that why you’re here? I understand what I sacrificed.”

“What you _sacrificed._ ” This conversation was a waste of time. She had promised herself she would stay away from the topic of the past, but the past is a sticky thing. Even if you shed yourself from it, its residue remains soaking into your skin. “No, that’s not why I tracked you down.”

“Then why? It’s not safe for you to be spending time here, you know. You shouldn’t have come straight to my home. Are you picking up and running? Is this about your little mishap over on the island? I was sorry to hear about it. Earnestly. Are you trying to get her back?”

Marisa toyed with the idea of the truth and how it would play for her father. He was expecting her to be desperate and emotional. His daemon, the little mink alert on the table, watched the golden monkey carefully. The monkey let out a practiced whine.

“He won’t let me see her,” her voice shook as she let her eyes fall to the floor. Tears would be too much. He knows her enough to see right through that. She needed to take a seat. Stop towering above him, but she couldn’t seem to relax in this place.

“Weren’t you the one who gave her up in the first place?”

“It was chaos, those months. I just wanted to be done with it all. Now, after being apart from her so long. I don’t know how you could stand it.” No, guilt would not work, she had to change course. “And Maman was so adamant about cutting my ties from the whole spectacle of it all. You know how she can be.”

Delamare leaned back in his chair. Hatred was so easy to capitalize on. “Yes, I remember quite well in fact. She wanted the family line to go on and on, but I’m not surprised she took one look at the face of that man of yours and decided some exceptions must be made. It’s outrageous, that woman’s priorities.”

Marisa placed her hands in her lap. Her feet were still covered in filth. If a stranger looked through the window, they would see a father reprimanding his daughter for stomping around in the mud.

“Listen to me, Marisa. You knew best. You left home as soon as you could and didn’t turn back. You built a good life for yourself in Brytain, by all accounts. You made a mistake, that doesn’t mean you should be raked over the coals for it. It’s the father who isn’t letting you see her, correct? He has no right. I can’t write to Brytain myself, obviously, but I maintain some friends over there who may be able to help.”

“No, please don’t. I don’t want this conversation to leave this room. I can barely get by as it is, and I don’t need another scandal threatening to strike to scare the lawyers I’m courting. And you’re right, I shouldn’t have come here. You may still have your friends in Brytain, but I cannot say the same for myself in this moment. You used to drone on at us about what finding yourself at the bottom means and what it takes to escape the bottom of a pit. I cannot hold it against you, what you did to escape your pit. Now, I need to escape mine.”

“Will a healthy deposit do it?”

She wanted to laugh at him, at his eagerness to please to contrasted against the ruthless type he pretended not to be. He loved to be the one sitting by a sick bed, but would be perfectly fine leaving behind an injured companion in the wilderness. Not that she ever knew him to be the kind to venture out anywhere until he did it for good. Not unique to her father, quoting himself to himself worked a treat. His posture straightened the moment she brought up old memories.

“Oh no, I don’t know if I could. I’m not sure what will help now. What is done cannot be undone.”

“You came all this way for something from me.” He got up from his chair as he reached for a silver cigarette case in his inside jacket. He was relaxing now that he got to play generous father. Marisa had let him slip by an examination of his failings and let him glow in what little good he ever did for her or her brother. “I’m surprised it’s for something so, familial, but I suppose having your baby kept away from you isn’t enjoyable for anyone. You should at least be given a fighting chance.”

He placed a cigarette in his mouth and lit it from the candle on the table.

Even in pretend, it made Marisa feel outside of herself to play the weeping mother. Her daemon itched himself on the floor. She watched as her father shut the silver case. It had a bad latch, if it was the same one maman bought him for his birthday, and wouldn’t close on the first try. The case popped open again as he tried to slide the case back in his jacket pocket. It hit the floor with a ding and the cigarettes scattered everywhere.

“Ah, fuck.” He got to his knees to pick the mess up.

Marisa sat and watched him. She noticed the sharp corner of the table. She noticed the tenderness of her father’s temples. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“The child deserves a fighting chance. She’ll get that with you.”

The words tumble around in her mind. Did her father earnestly believe that? More likely he was trying to get her out of his hair as soon as possible and didn’t care what she uses the money for, let alone for a bastard grandchild. Then again, he wasn’t there for the later years. He left when she still could have become anyone or anything. He must have imagined her with a broken back and a broken heart. He must have imagined she missed him more than she did. After all, for all he knows she has tracked him through his travels while suffering a marriage and public affair. Yes, he probably thought the child was what she wanted more than anything.

“There’s no guarantees.”

“I have a bank.” He returned to his seat. “Not here in Uppsala, but I can discreetly wire you funds. Virtually untraceable.”

She wanted to say, _yes I know_ , but he needed to feel more clever. So instead, she said, “You think of everything.”

“Your mother will be furious,” her father almost giggled.

“She won’t know it’s you. She’ll be furious at me.”

“We all take our secret pleasures. Keeps us sane.”

_Are you sane, father?_ She didn’t ask. The man elected to stay in a renovated cabin on the outskirts of the city rather than enjoy a comfortable and powerful life in Geneva. If it was her mother making him mad, he could have bought a town house for himself and a mistress, but no. He had his delusions of how to live a life worth living to become great. If his path to greatness led to a wooden house on a barren farm, where would Marisa’s path take her?

Not this.

She got up out of her seat. “I have to be going. I can’t be gone for long.”

“Already?”

She gave a half second look at her watch before gathering the golden monkey into her arms. The mink let out a whine.

“One drink. Before you go.” He turned and grabbed two empty glasses with water stains decorating the inside. “And not drinking the last sip. Like tradition.”

“But we may not see each other again,” her words were hurried. “I can’t come back to finish it.”

“Well, I thought- you never know.”

“I suppose.” she opened the door. “I still must go. Time is unforgiving.” The mud on her feet had dried.

The journey home required Marisa to remain with pen in hand responding to a stack of correspondence. Adele had repeatedly tried to contact Marisa while she was away. Apparently, Mrs. Kline had be calling her in for tea rather frequently badgering her on her background and her family. According to the letters, Adele managed to cobble together a consistent albeit vague backstory to please the woman, but it surely wouldn’t hold for long and sooner or later Adele would discover why the Klines had taken such an interest in her.

Jonas Kline had gotten wind of Marisa’s latest trip and was badgering her about the poor allies to be made in Uppsala. She wrote draft after draft, trying to find the right words to calm and deny him at the same time. Madame Delamare had sent an envelope suggesting a few eligible widowers for Marisa to choose from. This letter was sacrificed to the flames.

The letter that sent a chill down Marisa’s spine was from Marcel. Marisa hadn’t been alone in Uppsala. Someone was following her. _An old friend of father’s_ Marcel wrote. Based in Brytain too, if her brother’s information was correct. If he didn’t know the real reason she was there before, he may know soon enough. 


	4. The Coulter Research Group

Carlo had been urging her to slow down all morning. He had made comments on her quiet during breakfast. The words she heard were something along the lines of _I suppose no one has an appetite like you_ as she scooped up the last of the eggs. He wanted to know all about Uppsala, what inspired the trip, and speaking of trip she should really wait before getting any wheels rolling because he had some fantastic connections abroad and maybe she should consider forming relationships with them. Marisa brushed off the request. There was no time to wait for Carlo and his connections and she didn’t want him to get comfortable with the idea of feeling central to her work. That didn’t stop him from telling her to slow down in the car. It had been a while since Marisa drove a vehicle herself and she certainly wasn’t going to waste the opportunity driving slowly.

Carlo’s knuckles were turning white gripping his seat, “At this rate, we’ll reach the institute with enough time for a leisurely stroll before that hunched bunch is prepared for you.”

“I can’t afford the faux pas of being late.”

“Well,” he tried to laugh, “This is _my_ car and I’d like you to not burn the wheels clean off.”

“For all the money you spent on her, I’m sure she’s durable.”

The tires left a streak of black on the pavement as Marisa took a hard-left turn to the Arctic Institute. Marisa hopped out of the car and gave the keys to the valet. It took a moment for Boreal to unclench himself from the seat.

Marisa walked up the steps too hard. She heard her right heel strain and shift. Unclenching her jaw, she forced herself to relax as Carlo raced up to join her. She hadn’t been back to the institute since Edward was alive. There was no point in deluding herself into thinking this of refuge. Explorers and experimental theologians were just as prone to gossip as anyone else.

Grizel slithered out of the sleeve as Carlo placed his hand on Marisa’s back. “There’s nothing to be nervous about.”

He guided her into one of the smaller conference spaces. As he said, due to her speed they were just a touch _too_ early. Carlo promised Marisa he would give her privacy, but he was lingering.

She turned to him and brushed her fingertips over his lips. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“I’m sure you’d find a way. I’m just here to speed things along.” It was the closest to self-aware Marisa ever heard him. “I hear there’s a man from Trollesund at the institute today. I can speak to him on your behalf.”

“No, I have to be careful.” The golden monkey tucked himself by her legs for good measure. “I know you have your own business to attend to.”

Carlo adjusted his jaw before smiling. “Right.” He still hadn’t let down all his walls around Marisa. He was more stubborn than she first gave him credit for. Even now, she could see his neck tensing just knowing that Marisa had an eye on him and his own goings on away from her. She saw it as only fair. He saw it as her overstepping her bounds.

He put his hands down his pockets as he stepped away from her. “Best of luck, dear. Come calling when you’re ready to leave. I’ll be sitting for lunch.”

She calmed herself then, letting her daemon into her arms then. She had no reason to be so afraid. The pieces she needed were coming together. No hitch in site, hardly even a hiccup had occurred. Still, the feeing made her want to twist her fist in the monkey’s fur, but she forced her palm to stay open.

A small man with lemur daemon knocked on the door. “Mrs. Coulter?”

“Yes, welcome.”

Her wallet may have gotten a little thicker, but the experimental theologians who were genuinely interested in the work had to be brought over to Brytain. She supposed, like the best chocolatl, they were all the better for being imported.

The team was made up of about half a dozen people. Not the largest possible group, but the less people who knew a thing, the less likely it was to be spread. Marisa thanked them for coming and for traveling so far to do so. These were a young-looking bunch. They were people ready to cut their teeth in the field, do something important. The inexperience could be a problem, but at the least they’d have the energy to withstand what was to come.

“For now, we’ll be called the Coulter Research Group. What we uncover will be on a strictly need to know basis. That means no letters to family, friends, or any lovers you have or acquire during your time working for me. I believe you’ll find your salaries more than fair and come to see that this a job you can’t afford to lose.”

The way she spoke, they knew she meant being asked to leave would have greater consequences than a loss of income.

One of them raised their hands. She looked a few years Marisa’s senior, but the hand raising habit gave her a childish impression. “Excuse me. Does that mean we are publishing our work without the Arctic Institute?”

“The only way the Arctic Institute is involved is giving us this room to meet in today. For now, you’ll only exchange your findings with people in this room, and _always_ a copy sent to me. Since you’re here, you know enough to realize that studying the Rusakov Particle isn’t exactly popular right now, and it probably won’t be in the near future. Just because something scares people doesn’t mean it isn’t important, especially in our field.”

“Excuse me, but how are _you_ qualified to lead this group,” the man with the lemur daemon rested his arm behind is seat.

Marisa smiled, “Because I’m writing your checks and my name is on the damn thing.”

He frowned, but didn’t continue speaking. The golden monkey leered at him.

She opened her purse and took out seven folders and began handing them out. “You were given the first half of these papers before you arrived. This is the second half.” In reality, the total amount of information the team received was roughly a third of everything Marisa collected, but she knew enough to fake trust when she needed it.

Marisa watched her now employees take in what they were seeing. Mental notes were made: who reacted in fear, interest, disgust. To her pleasure, only one seemed to waver. She would push him out in time. As for the rest, perhaps she attracted the bloody minded.

The woman who raised her hand spoke again. Her voice shaking with anticipation, “And where will we begin conducting this research?”

“As I’ve implied, we’ll have to work quietly for a while, but I’ve secured a place in London that should temporarily serve our purposes. As for the future, I hope you all are equipped for the cold.”

She sent them all off quickly. They were given numbers to call within acceptable time periods and code words. They seemed excited by the cloak and dagger of it all. It was romantic and the romance made them feel important.

In the dining area, Carlo was nowhere to be seen. Marisa itched to go and listen to what he was doing, but the Arctic Institute was designed with small quiet spaces and large open ones. If she tried to listen in, someone would surely see her and inform him at once. It was a concession, but at least she was genuinely hungry and wouldn’t have to push her food around her plate waiting on him.

As she was brought to a table, she saw a man brighten in the corner of her eye. 

The light was reflecting off his skin. If she looked too long, he would blind her. Other senses were supposed to get stronger at the loss of sight. Would she be able to taste him deeper than before? Find points on his skin that the greed of her eyes denied her? She looked away. She should lock him in a dark box and drop him at the bottom of the ocean just to be safe. 

But Asriel always found his way out of a trap and he didn’t even need to gnaw off a limb to do so.

They had agreed not to mix in person. She had said it and he begrudgingly went along with it so far, but she had upset him the last time they said goodbye, and now she was experiencing his revenge: eating in the same room as her.

He turned to look at her and wave. He got up, stopping to chat with the waiter on the way, and came over to sit across from her. She clutched her glass ready to break it over his face to save her own. Asriel was grinning at her. He all but had his arms raised behind his head enjoying the view of her face contorting at him.

“Darling, how long has it been? It’s time we catch up, no?” He leaned in.

“You knew I was coming?”

“You follow me, I follow you. We should keep things fair. It’s not healthy, otherwise. Speaking of, I’m getting the trout today. Have you already ordered?”

“No.”

“Let’s both try it! We can compare notes.”

“No, Asriel, I mean get up and leave. I’m not breaking bread with you.”

“I don’t know if you heard me, but I’m ordering the fish.”

“Then I’ll leave,” she grabbed her purse.

Asriel shot out his hand to stop her. “Marisa, please. I think everyone is aware we know each other.” Despite his intent to drive her mad, she noticed he fidgeted more in his seat. Stelmaria’s eyes flicked around the room as she gently pawed the floor.

“And they should also know we’re not on good terms.” She came closer and leaned in. “Whatever it is that’s gotten under your skin, I’m not your lifeline.”

He muttered, “I think I’ve learned that by now. For fuck’s sake, Marisa, sit down. I’m not trying to have you out in the open.”

The golden monkey watched Stelmaria with concern. Marisa knew she could still storm out, teach her daemon a lesson, but the scandal from that would be worse than any whisperings over Marisa and Asriel being seen at a lunch.

“I promise you can tell everyone I accosted you. I won’t challenge it.”

Marisa settled down a little at the sight of his desperation. “Not here.” She threw her drink in his face for good measure. It confirmed the eyes of the institute. Several laughs and gasps scored her dramatic entrance out of the room.

It took roughly a dozen or so minutes before Asriel found her in the board room. The stain still marked half his shirt. He had taken to going without his jacket ever since his financial situation changed. A decision he was surely regretting at the moment.

“I went to dry my face,” he said, “You could have simply yelled an insult at me.”

“We should keep things fair.”

“You do know the board will be meeting in here in twenty minutes.”

“Exactly. Keep things short. Now please, what’s so important you had to make a fool of me today.”

Asriel grinded his teeth. “If you will be so generous, please tell me what mischief you worked in Uppsala?”

Marisa almost laughed. The next words she said did not have to be a lie. “Uppsala doesn’t concern you.”

“Oh, I think it does.” He rested his hand on Stelmaria’s head. She growled. “Now, I know it goes against your nature, but I would appreciate some honesty.”

“I don’t owe you anything.”

“Marisa, someone has been after me ever since you got home. I don’t have much to lose, but it seems you are intent in taking what is left from me.”

“As amusing as this sounds, I am being honest. I have no idea what you are talking about. If you followed me here, you know what my concern is and how it has nothing to do with you.”

“Maybe it wasn’t intentional, but you’ve sent trouble to my door.”

“Asriel, you have plenty of enemies who aren’t connected to me.” But Marisa couldn’t be so sure. If this started after she got home, it very well could be connected to her. It wasn’t as if this alethiometrist had the means or the motive to do anything, but her father, well she didn’t think he had any intention to be so hands on with helping her. Maybe she underestimated him. “Tell me exactly what is happening.”

She watched his face change as he attempted to believe her. “I’ve seen him lurking around Jordan College. The old man.”

“That’s it? That’s what this is about? Asriel, the only person I have in my employ who would ever _lurk_ for me is busy here in London.”

“I know you have a whole team-“

“Of experimental theologians. Not crooks or kidnappers. If you see a problem on the horizon, I suggest you deal with it yourself. There is nothing in Jordan College that is currently my concern.”

The whole time they had been speaking his face had been knotted. Learning that his adversary at the moment was not in fact Marisa made his face drop. He looked helpless and scared. Disgust pulsed through Marisa’s veins at the sight of it. In another way, jealousy did as well. She didn’t see this expression when she had told him almost a year ago to take a long walk off a short pier and never speak to her again. It didn’t last, of course, but at the time it felt like it would. Whatever he felt then, he could hide from her. This fear, here, demanded to be seen.

Asriel took a breath, “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“I’m afraid so.” She moved past him to the door. “Good luck, Asriel. I have no intention to get in your way.”

He grabbed the top of the door and pushed it closed again, boxing her in. “You’ll just let this go?”

“This is your concern. Not mine.” She almost snarled. If she had her way, she would cut him open at the belly. Pulling out his insides bit by bit, carving her name into every piece of him. And before she put him back together again, she would see him hollow, body filling with breath only if she decided to give it to him. Asriel was forgetting and she would exhale the memory back into him. He didn’t get to tear himself up with worry over somebody else. Not even for that girl.

He stepped back, grabbing Stelmaria by the nape of her neck. “Carlo will be waiting for you.”

Carlo was uneasy with Adele around. Shrugging him off the afternoon was easy accompanied by promises of tomorrow. Adele was also uneasy, but this was a more bitter strain.

Marisa sat down at her desk. Better to keep some space between them and put the envelope openers away in a drawer. Adele was already beginning to look older, and who knows what she had become capable of in such a short amount of time.

“George Kline has returned home.” Her butterfly daemon landed on the desk.

“Oh?”

“Mrs. Coulter. Prostitute was not part of the job description.”

“Oh,” Marisa laughed, “You don’t have to sleep with him, Adele. If that’s your concern you can rest easy. They want a few pictures, a whisper to a trusted friend who will leak it to a certain newspaper, and that’s that.”

“And ruin my reputation?”

Marisa wanted to roll her eyes. “No one knows who you are. I think your reputation will be fine. Do you want to keep your job or not?”

“You won’t be able to hire anyone else.” Adele spat these words out quickly. If she had a more intimidating daemon, Marisa might have been taken aback. “I know you need me.”

Marisa suppressed the extinct to deny her, but allowing Adele this small concession now could serve her if a future conflict is to arise. “No one will name you. I’ll have them keep your name out.”

“I’m not doing it.”

“Adele, what do you want from this? You accepted stepping over the line last time you had an issue with me. You have some moral flexibility. And in this case, you’re helping the young Kline. No one is getting hurt.”

“Your research group is formed. You’re protected.”

“Not even close. I’m funded, but I won’t be protected and neither will _you_ , until I am back on the inside. You must develop a stronger stomach. Which leaders do you think got to where they are simply because of hard work and good results?”

Adele rubbed her forward. Her butterfly returned to rest on the arm of her chair. “Well… a family friend of yours left a message here.”

Delamare would never be so reckless to contact her directly. It had to be someone else, someone trying to unsettle her. But she remembered her brother’s letter. The man watching her in Uppsala. Marisa’s jaw opened but no words came out.

“If you will manipulate your own family, what will happen to me?”

Her voice was dry, “Did you open my messages?”

“He didn’t write it down. All he said was that Damian Nice knows the truth and he’ll be coming to call.”

Marisa stood up so quickly her chair marked up the floor with four dark lines. The golden monkey watched his counterpart with eyes wide.

“Adele, I need to dismiss you for the day. You can take the evening off. I won’t be needing you.”

“I’m not finished!”

“I’ll protect your nothing reputation if it is so important to you, but the Klines are owed a favor and it is this one. You can learn to stomach it.”

Adele stomped her foot. Marisa would have cackled if she didn’t feel so sick. “I want insurance. I want to be involved in whatever it is that’s so important. I won’t be treated as disposable again.”

Normally, Marisa would twist this silly line of thought out of her, but today of all days _Damian Nice_ had decided to make himself known here in Brytain. She could still hold Adele back like the rest of the Coulter Research Group while giving her enough to chew on.

“Yes, alright.” Marisa scribbled an address on the back of a card. “We’re starting work in two days here. You’ll be there. After tomorrow when you bump into George at this hotel in Oxford. I’ll secure your requests with the photographer and the Klines.”

“How do I-“

“You have the address. You already have enough to hold over me if need be and you knew that.” Of course, Marisa had more resources to crush Adele should she get the wrong idea, but right now she was shoving her out the door and into the elevator.

At the ding of the elevator closing, Marisa ran to the telephone. The weight of the thing had grown and her hands shook as she dialed the number for oversees. She almost laughed at the thought of waking him up from his daily nap.

“Hello?” Marcel’s voice was groggy.

“Marcel, I got your letter.” The speed of her words would serve her. “I know the name of the man who followed me in Uppsala. He’s coming here, to Brytain. He sent some sort of messenger. He must have a gang here.”

“Hold on, are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure! The messenger showed up at my fucking address!”

“What do you know. I can send some people to find him. Once we get ahold of whoever this man is, we can question him.”

“No!” Marisa’s breath hitched in her throat. The calculation went quickly. If Marisa said nothing now, Marcel would start digging into her affairs while her father began doing the same. If she let him get captured, the Magisterium would start digging into her finances ending her ambitions before they could begin. And the last choice was out of the question, of course. Until now. “He’s too dangerous. I need him gone, Marcel. Please.”

“We could find out something useful from this type.”

“No, it’s not safe. For me. The name he is using is Damian Nice.”

The line went silent. “I’ll call you when it’s done.”

The golden monkey whined. Marisa hoped her brother couldn’t hear it. “Thank you.” And she hung up. Her father had officially died years ago. She wasn’t even changing the paperwork, only making it accurate. And Marcel didn’t need to know what he was about to do.


	5. Greetings And Farewells

Two days later, George was a notorious bachelor, and the Coulter Research Group started work for the first time. The space was bare looking more like a derelict warehouse than a place of discovery. Marisa had arranged for the delivery of the hulking equipment so at least the canvas had some paint on it. Even though the desks she had scattered around for each of her little theologians looked important with the already growing stack of papers.

Adele had arrived obscenely early. Marisa found her pacing outside the door when she came to unlock it. Without saying a word, her assistant shoved the photos into Marisa’s hand, confirming she completed her duty the other day. The word had been kept, and her face never appeared completely in the pictures, but she still noticed the blush in Adele’s cheeks as she flipped through the images.

“Make sure you don’t get in the way.” Marisa opened the door.

Adele kept quiet, but the moment she had both feet inside she began inspecting the room, leaning over everything to peer at it closely. A silly grin grew on the young woman’s face. Marisa supposed it looked exciting to someone who didn’t know better.

When the team arrived, Adele immediately greeted them with a firm handshake as if she was running the place.

Dr. Rendal made a bee line for the cage in the middle of the room. “Pictures? Do we have the correct emulsions?”

“Dr. Rendal, do you assume I start my work by making such an egregious error in not providing them?”

“What about the subjects?” Interrupted Dr. Cooper.

Marisa glanced at Adele who stopped her ceaseless inspection at the mention of outsiders. “The _volunteers_ will be here shortly. Remember for today, we are focusing on collecting the photograms.”

Dr. Cooper groaned. “That’s all? And new volunteers for later? Our data will be all over the place.”

“The volunteers have signed on to multiple sessions, worry not.”

That calmed Dr. Cooper enough for the moment. The golden monkey would later whisper to Marisa about the gnashing of her teeth while she busied herself over note keeping.

Adele whispered, “Who are the volunteers? You never asked me to communicate with any of them.”

“I don’t wish to trouble you with every little thing, Adele.” Marisa laughed.

Adele did not match her attempt to lighten the tone. As the volunteers entered the space, Marisa could hear her assistant take a sharp shallow breath. Naturally, the group had a downtrodden look about them. Patches in the sleeves and holes in the shoes. After doing a quick calculation in her head, Marisa figured there probably wasn’t enough to pay for a clean looking set of uniforms yet.

“How did you find these people?”

“It’s always wise to offer people some help in their time of need.”

“They’re being compensated?”

“Have to give the people a stipend.” What Marisa meant by “stipend” is a warm meal, leftover from her large personal buffets, and a place to temporarily escape from the cold as the later months of the year approach.

Adele allowed her face to fall into a state of disapproval. Marisa was ready to smack the look right off of her. But she reminded herself to be patient. All things are worn down by the sea. Adele’s moral outrage at every little thing was for show, in her opinion. She was proving to herself that she was still the idealist she was certainly brought up to be. The poor thing probably thought her present conditions were temporary.

“Your thoughts are screaming, please speak your mind.”

“I have nothing on my mind, Mrs. Coulter.”

“So, you admit to being empty headed?”

“No, only observing.”

“Are you interested in experimental theology?”

“As much as anyone else.”

“Not that much, then.”

Adele hesitated, “I admit it often baffles me, but I try to know who I’m working for.”

“You know me well enough by now.”

“You baffle me still.”

She said it rather flippantly. The effect was surprising as Marisa found herself feeling the smallest bit proud. She had hoped Adele would develop some fangs, but of course not that she would ever use them on her. Her assistant was still teething, and perhaps tonight was the opportunity for Adele to come into her own.

“Do you dance?” Marisa was watching one of the volunteers get spun around in the machine for the photograms. A flash of light made spots appear in her vision.

“Pardon? No, I don’t. I’m a mess.”

“There’s a small gathering this evening, not enough to be a party, but-“

“You do know I respond to your social invitations for you.”

“You should come. Meet some important people. Set the foundation for your bright and shining career without me.”

More flashes of light. Marisa stepped away before Adele could answer her. She didn’t have to turn around to know that she was back to pacing and staring. But there was nothing for her to discover yet. She was squinting at a blank page.

One of the volunteers started groaning. A touch of the claustrophobia. He had his fingers had hooked through the boundaries. The team had formed a human wall around it, unwilling to intervene. Marisa only watched to make sure he wouldn’t damage the lens. Dr. Rendal froze with his hands on the machine.

Marisa stomped ahead to him. “He’s staying in the same spot, isn’t he? Take the damn photogram.”

The groans turned to wails.

“Sound isn’t captured, just take the photogram so we can move on with our day.”

The lights flashed. The man was released stumbling with bits of sick spotting his lower lip. Marisa would quietly tell one of the staff to send him out for the day. He could be getting his germs everywhere and she couldn’t afford people calling in sick this early in the game. A whisper and the man was ushered outside.

After the spectacle, Adele began to get bored and started conversing with the volunteers. Her warm demeaner relaxed them making the process smoother for everyone else. Her assistant had a talent for getting people to loosen their lips. Adele nodded and smiled as these people gabbed at her without taking a breath.

With her distracted, Marisa started preparing her open letter to whom it may concern. The golden monkey peaked over the edge of the desk and eyed Marisa. She was being over eager, jumping the gun. No one invested in potential. At least not from anyone not already on the inside. Though Marisa had never practiced herself, writing out her letters filled with complex vocabulary and disguised insults felt what she imagined meditation must be like.

“Mrs. Coulter, they’re asking for their meals,” the man’s lemur daemon twitched.

“Then give it to them.”

“They haven’t taken their exams yet.”

“We can hardly expect the results to be useful to us if they’re focused on the food. The same goes for the blood tests. I’ve seen your fingers itching to get to those needles.”

His voice fell to a whisper, “And do you want us to do this in front of your assistant?”

“She’s almost done chatting up the subjects and I’ve given her another task for the day. She’ll stop hovering before you know it. What about the man who got sick?”

“He’s in the back. We’ll be able to use him for later phases, not to fear.”

“I’m only afraid of sloppy mistakes.” She dropped her pen to look at him directly for the first time in this exchange. “Now please, feed these people. And make me a plate while you’re busy with it.”

Adele jumped at the sound of her own name being called from across the makeshift lab. She glanced back at the people she was so eager to chat with as she made her way over. “Yes, Mrs. Coulter?”

“Are you going to wear _that_ to the party?”

“No, of course not.”

“Have you used any of your pay on your wardrobe?”

“I have other expenses to cover.”

Marisa rolled her eyes. “Please go back to mine and pick out something from my left closet to wear.”

“Me in your clothes?”

“Next time, you should have your own.” She looked back down at her papers. “Now, shoo.”

The butterfly daemon landed on Adele’s shoulder. He looked like a decorative pin on her dress. Marisa hoped Adele would pick out a pale color as it would match nicely. The door opened and swung shut with a clang.

She spoke to the room, “Alright now, let’s move on.”

It was an intimate party. The kind of thing that was thrown together because it was the season for it and it was time for everyone to be reminded how wealthy the hosts really were. The hosts in question were the enemy of an enemy, but not someone Marisa could quite call a friend again yet.

The Lauders were loud and sloppy, but Mr. Lauder had managed not to completely destroy his family name, a gift that filled Marisa with envy. Carlo was among those in attendance, but as was Marisa’s recommendation, he arrived separately so as not to link them so strongly that failure in one would hurt the other’s career. Adele had picked out a black dress which would have looked fine enough if it wasn’t actually funeral dress. Her butterfly daemon shined on her shoulder.

“Are you stuck to me, or are you going to mingle?”

Adele frowned, “I memorized the names of all the guests. I thought you wanted me by your side to help?”

“I know these people. I don’t need you to whisper little factoids in my ear.” The golden monkey grunted. It had been a while since Marisa had gone out to an official event, at least one that came with expensive stationary as the invitation. “Now, please.”

Adele shifted in her stance as she took in the room. She was holding her face tightly. A little line had appeared between her brows. Suddenly, the muscles relaxed and she breathed a sigh of relief as she walked away towards a seated man whose face was obscured by the rest of the crowd. All Marisa could see was a scuffed shoe lazily bouncing in the air.

Nanette Lauder was holding court in the middle of the room. In Marisa’s opinion, it was never her charm that drew people to her but the gravitational pull of her loud voice and her even louder laugh. Once or twice, Marisa had to take a pill for her head after having tea with the woman.

Nanette saw the golden monkey first and her eyes lit up as her hand reached out flopping around to call Marisa to her. “My dear! Oh, it’s been so long! Too long! Ages!”

The group that had encircled her turned their faces, but not their bodies, to watch Marisa approach. Of all their daemons, half tucked themselves closer to their counterpart while the rest watched the golden monkey with wide eyes.

“Nanette,” Marisa spoke smoothly, “I can’t recall the last time we’ve talked.”

She could, actually. Nanette had called late in the evening to apologize for standing Marisa up for a simple lunch. Her daughter had needed her attention, and she couldn’t bring that little one around Marisa, of course. Not in public. She couldn’t afford to have her in-laws swarming her with criticisms about bad role models she was giving her daughter. _You want your girl to grow into that whore?!_ Nanette didn’t quote it exactly like that, but the voice was easily imagined.

“I’m just so sorry I haven’t had time to keep in touch.” Nanette rubbed her growing belly.

Marisa raised her eyebrows. “Again?”

“My husband,” Nanette shrugged and giggled. It was as explicit as she was willing to go on the topic of sex. Any more and she might explode.

“Congratulations. Another try for a son.”

This sent the rest of the group into a minor fit.

“Marisa can I get you a drink?” She didn’t look at who said it, but she took the man up on the offer and sent him on his way. The balance had shifted making her feel right at home.

“Nanette, we’re being rude to the rest of your guests.” Marisa let the golden monkey onto her shoulder before she took a proper look at everyone.

They didn’t wait for Nanette to reacquaint everyone before the conversation flowed once more. Marisa nodded along to the people catching her up on their lives. Their recent vacations the previous summer, their children’s coming birthdays, the argument over some bill that passed or didn’t pass, she only half listened to all the details. They didn’t respect her, but they needed her to think about them as much as they thought about her.

For just a moment, Marisa glanced away. Adele was in deep conversation with that man. Maybe they were lovers. Adele was in need of some tension relief.

“Carlo’s here, isn’t he?” Nanette threw out her voice out of nowhere. “That’s nice, isn’t it. But I wish I knew he was coming too. You should have told me, Marisa. Though you responded so late, I suppose nothing could have been done anyway.”

“We didn’t come together.”

“Then I guess it’s alright.” Nanette took a sip of her champagne. “But I need you to know, that I bring it up because I wasn’t sure you were coming for some time. Anyway, it should be all fine, I suppose.”

To Marisa’s knowledge, Carlo hadn’t made any scenes regarding the two of them. He was wonderfully well reserved when he needed to be and when asked very nicely. Though, it wasn’t out of the ordinary for Nanette to want to stir still waters, especially when she felt as if she had just been shoved into a corner.

The old habit bored her. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go talk to my assistant.”

As Marisa walked away, she heard, “Lovely girl! Lovely friends!” She never got that drink.

Good thing she didn’t, because seeing the owner of the scuffed shoe speaking so intently to her assistant might have knocked her off balance had she not been sober. There sat her father, relaxed as ever speaking with Adele. Whatever he was saying captured her attention in a way Marisa had not seen expressed upon her face before.

“Mrs. Coulter! I’m assume you’ve met.”

“No,” Her jaw went slack, “We haven’t.”

“Mr. Nice, this is Mrs. Coulter.”

Her father looked up at her through his eyelashes, “Surely we can start on a first name basis, Mrs. Coulter.”

“It’s Marisa.” She shook his hand.

“Damian.”

She hadn’t expected to see him ever again. Already, she had gone over their last conversation and committed it to mind. The last days were imagined in her head and it was rather troubling to see the plot contradicted in real life.

“And what have you said to my assistant that has kept her by your side all evening.”

“We’re talking politics,” he said smugly. “Passions run high with the subject. Hard to get away from the conversation. I hope I haven’t deprived you of anything by occupying Miss Starminster.”

Underneath his chair, the mink daemon bared his teeth at the golden monkey.

“You cornered a bright mind here.” Any modulation in her voice had vanished.

“We were just discussing that baby holed away in Jordan College. Dear old dad forbidden from her except under the ground of this scholastic sanctuary you have going on. What do you make of that?”

Marisa directed her words at Adele. “That’s not politics, it’s gossip.”

“He asked about it only because he had visited the college earlier,” Adele sputtered.

“And what was your opinion on the matter?” Marisa smiled.

“I was interested in the nature of scholastic sanctuary and the connection it has to our education here, how it saves us, really.”

Marisa mimicked a sigh. “Interest in the academic sector isn’t something we have in common.”

“And she was wondering why there was no sanctuary from the Magisterium for the law.” He let his foot hit the ground with a slap and leaned forward. “An idea many have wondered before, but I’m not interested in this old conversation. That baby was very puzzling to me, or to be more accurate the circumstances around her. They say her mother has got a sum of money but she has hardly lifted a finger to do anything about the whole mess. Now what is she spending all her time on if not that? Mothers are supposed to move mountains for their young, aren’t they?”

“I haven’t found that to be true.”

“What do you suppose she is doing?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“Ah, well idle speculation and gossip are intoxicating to me. I can’t help myself.”

She should throw him down and dig her heel in his throat right here. What personal slight did he feel that he would travel all the way here to humiliate her? Was he expecting something in return for his favor?

“Adele, I believe there is a reporter here who owns a small newspaper. You may be interested in speaking to him, considering these _fascinating_ ideas you have. He’s the one with the badger daemon and the cheap suit.”

Adele, sweat visible at her hairline, shuffled off with her head down. Her embarrassment was unearned. Marisa already knew her political leanings. They were about as obvious as a train.

“My dear, are you going to tell me what little project of yours I’ve invested in?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Nice.”

“You,” he exposed his lower set of teeth, “Are just like her.”

“And what’s the alternative? You?”

Marisa took her golden monkey into her arms and turned away.

She left less than an hour later. Adele was once again engaged in deep conversation, but this time with the journalist she suggested. Marisa would leave them be. He was much better company for Adele, challenging but ultimately passive. Adele would figure out soon enough that her employer had disappeared for the evening. Carlo had accompanied her home, but with the liquor working its magic, he fell asleep with a cheek pressed to the cool window of the car.

Inside, she had forgotten to leave a light on for herself. Taking off her shoes and handing them to her daemon, she let her feet slide against the granite floors.

The phone rang. Marisa picked it up without saying a word.

“It’s done. Fifteen minutes ago.”

“Thank you.”

“We tracked him to a party you were attending this evening. He could have gotten his hands on you. You need to be more careful when someone out there is after you.”

“I’d never leave my house. Thank you, Marcel. Goodnight.”

That was that, but a little more liquor for the evening wouldn’t hurt.

She opened a bottle of wine for herself, drinking it all save for the last sip.


	6. Plurality As A Concept

The day began with a servant, newly employed, staring at her from the doorway. She was holding a bundle of sheets in her arms. Marisa had woken up the woman in the early hours of the morning or late hours of the night depending on the activity. She had to rush over in the dark, as Marisa had stopped allowing staff to be live in ever since Edward died. Imagine her surprise when the demand was to simply clean the guest room sheets.

Marisa never liked to keep evidence of Asriel around. She had called him after midnight. A man with a gruff sounding voice answered who took five minutes to go up the stairs of the dingy building and pass off the message to Thorold who passed it off to Asriel. Her name was, naturally, never uttered.

He didn’t question her when he arrived. She had already humiliated herself just by reaching out to him. And they didn’t say a word to each other as she pulled him into the guest room. Stelmaria carried the golden monkey in her jaws. He’d be leaving Brytain again in the coming days and he needed as many memories of her stored up for the long journey. As for Marisa, there was a nostalgic quality to smuggling him into her home, through the back doors and secret passageways which were only called secret because servants were forced to use them.

Once inside, Stelmaria bowed her head to the golden monkey to allow him to bury his face in her fur. Both her and her daemon wanted to forget themselves.

She kept her eyes closed more than usual, but she could still feel his own eyes on her. His movements demanded attention she didn’t want to give. What she wanted was to exist beyond the boundaries of her skin. He placed a hand around her neck and she opened her eyes. The vanity’s mirror was uncovered on this room and she could see both of their bodies reflected in full view. Once before, she had caught the look of them wound up together and it had thrilled her. Seeing their bodies together now, it made her frightened, sending her deeper into the dark.

When Asriel saw this, he kissed her on the left eye and gently pressed the right with his thumb. She hid her face in his shoulder. The smell of him worked its way into her brain, that permanent scent of river water and spice that seeped out of his pores even after baths of rose oil.

He moved her around how he liked her. She wasn’t there anyway. Not in the present or the past, she’s sinking into the future as if weights have been tied to her ankles. She’s missing this as she has him in her arms. _Remember when, remember when, remember when,_ echoes with the pulsing in her veins.

One day, he won’t be able to consume her anymore, empty her out, clear her mind. One day it will be the last time and if she is the one left surviving the memories will get hazier. She should give them both a gift and slit their throats here and now leaving them to bleed out on each other. They should die with this clear in their minds and their smell left on each other’s skin mixed with the iron. He doesn’t know it, but she made this deal with God for both of them.

He got dressed without looking at her. “I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

She said nothing. Images of him freezing to death in the north like a perfect statue take her attention. She’ll have to retrieve him herself. No one else is allowed to touch him.

He was waiting for her to say something, maybe an insult that would end up sounding more desperate than anything she could say if she knew how to be sincere. All she did in response is roll over, turning her back to him.

She listened to his footsteps as he leaves. _Remember when, remember when, remember when._

When the sun was high in the sky, she woke up properly in her own bed.

The maid stepped back unsure whether or not to run. “I’ve washed them ma’am, but there was a tear in the sheets. I need time to stitch them.”

Marisa glared at her with dark circles under her eyes. “Fine.”

The food she ate at breakfast had no taste. Her brother was probably having a perfectly normal morning. He doesn’t know what he has done or who he has lost. She flipped through the developed images from the research group. Page after page of people shrouded with Dust.

The next several months floated by. Adele had gone quiet with her complaints, distracted by her new friends in print. One less daily headache to anticipate. The Coulter Research Group chugged on as Marisa demanded longer hours and a faster pace. She wanted her designs to take physical form. It wasn’t enough to keep things in theory any longer. The employees exchanged nervous looks about the speed they were rushing things along, but all jabs at Marisa went on behind her back. Regardless, what better way to celebrate the anniversary of the group’s assembly.

The subjects on their end had become restless, but weren’t ready to give up a consistent source of food. The older ones wanted to know why they were being included less than the younger subjects. Marisa figured they must be jealous of the extra attention and care. They were only afraid of losing their warm beds. These fears weren’t unfounded as much as an inevitable once the data pointed in a very precise direction.

Hugh MacPhail had arrived to lunch without an appetite. All the better for Marisa, she wanted to get him to the lab as soon as possible. It was difficult to see what worth charming him would do. His outrage against her was genuinely moral from his point of view. He stroked the ring on his finger with more care than he would ever give a person.

“You can understand our trepidation.” He yawned so widely she could see the grooves in his teeth.

Marisa always hated his use of _our_ when speaking about the Magisterium. Father MacPhail liked to maximize his own importance in the scheme of things. She imagined he thought himself as the life blood in a body pumping along as he made every faction healthier for his presence. In fact, he could be nothing more than a little finger or even the small toe on a foot that is curled up, permanently deformed after prolonged time shoved in the corner of a boot.

She curled her own shoulders forward to give the sense of nerves. “Of course. I wouldn’t write to you if I believed I have anything less than extraordinary.”

“How quickly you’ve assembled this whole thing. And under a dozen people working for you. It’s quite something.”

“Quality over quantity,” Marisa shook her fist. It was a little much. “How is your tea? Finished?”

“A few more sips.” He slid the cup between his hands. “And it’s good to see you’ve evolved your thinking that way.”

How delicious it would be for the golden monkey to eat his lizard whole. Her lip twitched at that impulse from her daemon.

“I’ve taken the Magisterium’s desire for quiet reflection to heart.”

“While being as busy as a bee.”

“I hope I can make today worth your time.” Marisa took her daemon’s head and buried it in her side. His dark eyes were glaring too ferociously at Father MacPhail and today she needed to be interpreted as anything but volatile.

The lizard daemon went down Father MacPhail’s onto the table. Marisa flinched at the display, but noticed Macphail looking rather soft at the gesture between her daemon and herself. Her supposed smallness appeased him.

“It’s just a short walk up the river,” Marisa said softly.

Father Macphail took the last sip of his tea and smiled. “Up up up. Alright, lead the way.”

She walked by his side with her fingers interlaced in front of her. Although she kept waiting for him to start pestering her with questions, he didn’t say a word. Instead the only sound was his hand continually scratching at his chin. Marisa could see his skin turning redder with each visit.

It wasn’t until they reached the lab that she saw he was attempting to grow a beard and the patches, more peach fuzz than anything, were just starting to come in. She wondered how much longer it would take for him to give up and realize he was destined to look as soft as the day he was born.

Stepping inside, Father Macphail didn’t allow himself to look flummoxed by anything he saw. The experimental theologians didn’t wait for Marisa to introduce themselves. They knew he was coming and had be chomping at the bit to prove themselves to someone in the Magisterium. Admittedly, Marisa had been allowing them too much free reign in recent history as she tried to forget the night of the Lauder’s party.

But she would not be outshined.

“Yes, yes, Mrs. Coulter sent me some of your findings. We already understood, us in the Magisterium, the nature of Dust, but you have promised more than that. I sincerely hope you haven’t misled us into a misunderstanding.” The last sentence was directed with a sideways stare at Marisa.

“Keep an open mind,” said Dr. Rendal. “This is a primitive model.”

Dr. Rendal was too good at her job to completely get rid of, but if something went horribly wrong in the lab and she was killed in a freak accident Marisa would not be upset. _Primitive_ is not a word that attracts a Magisterium man.

Led into the room, a child about the age of seven from the looks of him was mindlessly playing with a bag of marbles with his daemon. He didn’t look up as Father MacPhail approached to ask him questions about the conditions of his prolonged care here. The boy only clucked on about the strange food he had to eat and the boring tests he had to take. MacPhail didn’t move a muscle in his face while receiving the answers. Marisa grinded her teeth.

Dr. Rendal leaned down to talk to the child praising his answers and brushing back his hair as she stuck a needle into his arm. There was a momentary flicker of fear in his eyes as he and his daemon drifted into sleep.

“It’s not the most elegant process, but like I said.” She smiled with one half of her mouth.

He was carried into the intercision machine as his daemon was scooped up on a platter. They wouldn’t touch them, certainly not in front of Father MacPhail. Marisa had made that last part explicitly clear.

MacPhail followed, touching the machinery and peaking at the child inside.

Marisa snapped her fingers at him. “If you will, please stand back. We have to control anbaric magnetic system as best we can. Especially in this setting. And we must value discretion.”

MacPhail pursed his lips. “Naturally.”

Everyone in the room kept extraordinarily still. They all knew how easily this could end badly. The project had grown into its own body count at a steady pace. Today they had selected the healthiest child they could, but the rest was left to prayer and hoping for dumb luck.

Marisa wasn’t breathing as the silver guillotine was let loose.

The Authority must have been infatuated with her. The boy, still unconscious, had a pulse. She could’ve burst into tears right there, but instead settled for a smug smile at MacPhail who had his own mouth agape.

“His daemon is still here.”

“Yes,” Marisa breathed, “And it takes some time to get the children awake and roaming again. There’s a learning curve, you could say.” A learning curve that had never been completed without a stopped heart, but that was information for another day. “You can see what is possible with our limited resources, now imagine what can be done with Magisterium backing. We can’t work out of this space forever. I had a place in the north in mind.”

“I can’t make any promises. You’ve shown me a sleeping boy without a daemon. Now show me one active. I can hardly sell my colleagues on a theatre show.”

“The health of this children is rather fragile and we are careful not to introduce them to too much of the outside world.”

“Is it very fragile?” MacPhail chuckled. “I see. Then show me the rest of your work. I need more access before I can file my report. We aren’t accustomed to slapdash work.”

Marisa wanted to pull out the little hairs on his chin. “I’m supposed to unlock everything for you? How do I know that you won’t take it back to the Magisterium and set up your own board?”

“You think your work is that important?”

“I know it is.”

“Then you have nothing to fear. Besides, we have the authority to take the information. You opened that up the moment you requested to meet.” Now it was Father MacPhail who snapped his fingers and the spineless experimental theologians went shuffling off to do MacPhail’s bidding. “Mrs. Coulter, would you mind fetching me some tea?”

It had been two days and no word from Father MacPhail or anyone from the Magisterium. Carlo had claimed he hadn’t heard anything about the Coulter Research Group and that it would be overstepping for him to start asking around this soon.

Marisa sighed softly as she helped him with his morning shave. “It’s alright dear, I know you always do your best for me.” She pretended that the cut on his neck was a sloppy accident. He winced as she held a towel soaked with scalding hot water to it.

Later that morning, Adele’s daemon was fluttering around the woman’s head. She was chewing on the inside of her cheek glancing left and right instead of focusing on what was in front of her. The newspaper was flipped open at the arts section. There was a new play being produced and Adele was supposed to secure box seats for them. Instead, she was staring off into space letting her chocolatl cool.

Marisa looked up from her own cup, “Do you want it reheated?”

Adele slowly came back to life. “Um, no thank you. I don’t really like the taste.”

“Interesting.” Marisa stabbed her fork into a piece of strawberry. “Not much of a sweet tooth?”

“No, not really.” The sound of her voice had a misty quality to it. It felt like nails on chalkboard.

“Good for you then.” Marisa rolled her eyes.

“No, not if they were remarkable.” Marisa finished her chocolatl.

Adele pulled out her notebook. The pages were soaked with inking detailing Marisa’s schedule and wishes. Footnotes were made with additional pieces of paper stuffed between the pages. Adele kept her shoulders straight and her eyes locked with Marisa’s. She took a deep breath before speaking. “And I’m very concerned about your recent visit with the man named MacPhail. I saw his name on the letter. He’ll sink your project. Or worse, turn it into something not worth pursuing.”

“Do you know him personally?”

“I know his reputation.”

Marisa’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “What a fantastic basis for an opinion.”

“His loyalty to the Magisterium goes to the extreme, to say the least. His career is more than a profession to him. What he believes, the bill he lobbies for, it’s abhorrent. We’ll all be better off once men like him have been pushed out of power.” She said this as if it was so obvious, so simple, and with the assumption of agreement. Perhaps Marisa should have been more careful expanding Adele’s social circle. 

“It’s all show. The man is a bundle of nerves. Everything he does is so he can go home and pretend he is more important than he is. It can be controlled with a little patience.”

“Do you really believe that or are you scared about whatever it is that happened two days ago? I think he’ll absorb the Coulter Research Group. He’ll make it an arm of the church. I know you don’t want that.”

“I’m so tired, Adele.” The redness in her eyes should’ve been fire instead of the discoloration of a hangover. “You make me so very tired. You can never make up what side you’re on, can you? It may have played a little endearing at first, but now it shows me a weakness in your character.”

Adele opened her mouth to speak, but Marisa held up her hand.

“You may have checked little tasks off your to-do list, but you never go above and beyond. When I first met you, I took your demeaner to mean you were hiding some hidden talent for this work, but it’s not there. I have yet to be impressed. If it is, you don’t care about sharpening it or revealing it to me. You’re hollow. Why don’t you go back to calling yourself whatever it was you were before Starminster and have long idealistic discussions with your college friends about the future of this country while doing nothing to truly play a hand in shaping the future.”

“You’re in a mood,” Adele said sharply. “Not everyone needs to work the way you do to make a difference.”

“There you go, you’re back at it already. You have your lines down perfectly.”

Adele slid her way out the door. Marisa got up to make sure the little insect went out and stayed out.

The golden monkey looked up at her after watching the door close. Marisa hadn’t decided if this banishment was permanent or not and he could feel it. She dropped her mug of chocolatl right next to where he sat. He jumped at the mix of shards and sticky sugar leaping at him. At least he would be too busy cleaning his fur than trying to bother her with his silly concerns.

Marisa went to the phone and dialed without looking. At the click of an answer she spoke before he could start with her. “Marcel, I want to talk to you about Thuringia Potash again, and this time-“

“Marisa, what have you been getting up to in Brytain? I just spent the morning with Magisterium breathing down my neck because you.”

“Oh?” There was a positive lilt to her voice.

“They’re holding a closed conference here in Geneva. About the Rusakov Particles.”

“I haven’t heard anything about it. Am I being blocked?”

A buzz sounded throughout her hall. The doorbell.

“I'll see you soon, Marisa.”


	7. Partners

Geneva was a city known for its stunning natural landscape, lively mix of people, and timeless architecture. One wouldn’t realize that looking into the square bland building filled with square bland people whispering over unnaturally square bland food. Marisa was escorted, kidnapping too harsh a term, all the way from London. She had tried to twist answers out of the dark uniformed blank faced men who brought her here, but they had promised they knew nothing about the event only that she had to be there.

She was flattered in a way, until her brother met her in the hotel room they had stuffed her into for the time being. He warned her that she would not be asked to speak or represent her research group in any way. Why Marcel was invited at all remained baffling to her.

“I think they figure we’re in on it together,” he said reading her mind.

“We could have been. You could have made things much easier for me.”

“With hell for me to pay. I don’t mind doing you the occasional favor, but you had to know there was a line somewhere.”

“You’re my brother.”

“And that only means something to you when you need it to.”

“What’s wrong with that?” asked Marisa sincerely, “When else should it? I’m only your sister when you need something to complain about. Or be inspired by.” The last bit she said with a grin.

His owl daemon bit at the air. “Ah yes, very inspiring. You’ll be a martyr after this evening when I’m forced to witness you stabbed twenty-three times.”

“If they kill me, I hope you’ll deliver the final blow.” Marisa was keeping up her usual tempo with Marcel, but a part of her was disturbed by the image of the Magisterium swooping down on her taking her work and discarding her body in the lake. Or better the ocean back in Brytain. They can say she walked into it herself. “Anyway, I’ve decided to take this all as a good sign. They’re afraid of my work.”

“As if you are the first person to start messing around with that particle.”

“The first to do anything about it.”

Marcel’s studied casual look dropped. “What does that mean?”

The corners of Marisa’s lips curled up. Her brother had turned his back on her when she had debased herself by begging her family of all people to back her. He denied her then so she would deny him now. “It means you and the rest of the world suffer from a lack of imagination for what can be possible.”

Marcel crossed his arms. “You really have yourself feeling like quite a somebody for a woman being held in captivity. You don’t know what you’re walking into.”

“Neither do you.” Marisa put her hands on her hips. “You’re only here because of me.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I know. And you know nothing.” Marisa ran her hands down the skirt of her dress. There was no time to grab a dress for the evening, so this would become the perfect look. “The usual arrangement of things.”

For all this concern from her brother, and for all this drama from the Magisterium, Marisa expected a little more flare and showmanship to the closed conference. At the least, more people to justify the name of the thing. She poked at the food on the table. It shook while retaining its shape as it leaked onto the plate. The golden monkey turned away from the sight.

Across the room a man had been giving a speech about the relationship between human beings and nature. It might have been a prayer for all Marisa could tell. He repeated himself enough for it to qualify as such. Marcel waved at Marisa to come sit back down. She pretended not to see him. This was all for her, or about her, she supposed she could do what she liked. Why pretend like anyone else could have inspired this rushed affair?

The speaker’s tone changed. “Which brings us to the issue at hand.”

Marisa turned around at the words. Here she was, the issue at hand. The golden monkey stood up straight.

“There have been issues of experimental theologians becoming indiscreet. Enlisting outsiders for their staff, street nobodies for their subjects. No concern for maintaining a controlled environment.”

That pathetic little MacPhail hadn’t deigned to be here so that Marisa could throttle him. What sort of picture he must have painted for his precious overlords. What he was spiting her for, she did not know. _The audacity to remain a nuisance._ She supposed those were the words he would use. She could easily say the same about him.

“The needs are easily imagined. Immediate intervention. We have already received a large portion of the information detailing the damage done.”

Marisa was incredulous. “Pardon me, but is my presence here an error of someone’s judgement? Or was I meant to sit here quietly and watch my life’s work taken from me?”

The men mumbled amongst themselves. The speaker still stood at the podium holding onto his weak symbol of authority. “Mrs. Coulter, of course the details of this transfer would be discussed with you.” Everyone but Marcel returned their attention to the front of the room.

Marcel had his lower jaw jutting out. He wasn’t really looking at his sister, but considering something. She waited for any variety of sign from him, but his face didn’t change. He sighed to himself turning back around, feigning disinterest. She should leave now. At the least, they would be forced to chase after her.

But instead she sat there and took it. The forced outrage over her “careless” and “egotistical” experiments. One man went on to suggest it was a “vanity project.” As if they weren’t desperate to black out her name and write in their own now that the beginning of the dirty work was already done.

Finally, they gave her permission to speak. Not her, specifically, but the floor opened up. Marisa was ready to push them all in.

“If I’m to understand this ambush correctly, and this is an ambush, the Magisterium… Or, excuse me, the Brytish government will be seizing my research under the claim that I’ve breached labor laws?”

“Mrs. Coulter. Any research regarding the Rusakov Particle is highly sensitive. Half of us here have taken great pains to continue working without causing trouble.”

“What have any of you done except hunch over the same several theories for years? As for other half of the room, I address you now. I’ve done more for the Magisterium than any of these men here today. My intention was always to _partner_ with Magisterium officials so that we could work _together_.”

“Nonetheless, you have broken the law.”

“My subjects were all volunteers.”

“Who had no idea how much of themselves they were giving.”

“Does that change the definition of the word?”

Marcel stood up quietly as he smoothed down his tie. His daemon flapped her wings as she placed herself on the back of his chair. “Gentlemen, the Brytish government cannot seize a company that is not Brytish. The Coulter Research Group belongs to my family’s company, Thuringia Potash. Any bids on the content discovered by that group should go through me while here in Geneva.”

Marisa experienced the rare and thrilling sensation of shock. “Maman will pull out all of your daemon’s feathers over this.”

“I couldn’t leave you flailing like that in front of them. It wasn’t dignified.” Marcel flipped through the menu for the fourth time that late evening. “Should we get another round?”

“My nerves will need it.”

Marcel lifted his finger to call over the waiter. “It’s no skin off my back. Thuringia Potash will get a massive check from the Magisterium itself over something we didn’t spend a cent on. There’s no loss for me.”

“What about your delicate board?”

“You’re not the only one who knows how to collect a favor or two. I just know how to avoid making a scene unless absolutely necessary. Which tends to mean it involves you.” The waiter arrived. “Another bottle for the table.”

She had begged him for help nearly a year ago and here he was now giving it freely as if it would have been a burden _not_ to. His moods changed like the breeze. But no, he was far more deliberate in his choices than that. He was the tide. There was a pattern and reason for everything he did.

“You’ll have no hand in my work.”

“The better for me.”

“I mean it. Keep whatever it is they’ll pay you, but you are to look the other way.”

“Again, sounds like a winning situation by all accounts.”

Marisa chewed at her lower lip. “You knew what this was about.”

“I had a suspicion, but I didn’t know for sure. I was prepared for all possible outcomes. And if they were going to drag you down, I’d be thrown in as collateral damage. They like to obliterate people in groups.”

“You know that, do you?”

The waiter returned with the wine. A fine chianti.

“Yes, I do. And soon you will too now that you’re working with them in an official capacity.” Marcel took a sip of his wine. “I’ll let you know when they send me the paperwork. I may be able to get this whole thing sorted within the week.”

His calmness enraged her. Marcel was glowing from the inside after saving his erratic vulnerable sister. She would toss him in the lake if she didn’t need him. Knowing that she d _id_ , she wanted to be sick all over the table. She considered telling him the truth about Damian Nice just out of petty revenge. At least, her daemon would later assure her, Marcel wouldn’t ask for a return on this favor. It would make him a richer man with gloating rights. So she would suffer this display. For now.

Marisa considered her wine. “They want us back tomorrow. This _conference_ of what, two or three dozen people? You really gave them too much credit.”

“Theatrics are in the genes, unfortunately.” 

What would be discussed the following day would be a breakdown of the systematic suppression of any education or concern over the Rusakov Particle. Any research already published was to be discounted as one minority group of experimental theologians with an outrageous theory that could not be discounted technically, but certainly couldn’t be backed up by any work of actual worth.

Marisa would be required to take a role in this while managing her duties on the board to be named. Both casually and professionally brushing off the subject as dreamy ideas that have no actual effect on the way people live their lives. Might as well concern yourself with life on other planets. It was nothing anyone with real brains should waste their precious time over. 

She nodded along making sure her body language suggested humility and honor. The task was easy enough, something she may have done anyway of her own volition. What she wanted to know was exactly what the new lab, no facility, would entail. The knowledge of the sweet treats to come was making her teeth ache.

Marcel was busy wondering how many extra zeroes he could get out of the Magisterium. He kept pushing Marisa for details on her work so he could find out exactly how much he could bleed them for due to sheer desperation and fear. She never gave him explicit details. He could pull her out of the dark but not know what monsters were inside. She didn’t bother to consider what ambitions of his own he would be putting this money to.

Circling over her head for who knows how long, Marisa had quite forgotten that Bomani was waiting for the perfect moment to call on her. Though she thought the gift of the spy flies was small potatoes in the scheme of things. Bomani arrived on her doorstep looking hungry. He must keep an ear out for news about her. Whispers of the Magisterium’s General Oblation Board, as they had decided to rebrand her group, had traveled south.

He put his feet up on her terrace table. “You’ve worked quickly, my friend.”

The golden monkey jumped on the seat before Marisa reached the table. “You should have written to let me know you were on your way.”

“Pardon me. I didn’t know you struggled with surprise.”

“Only professional ones.”

Bomani leaned forward, feet still on the table. “Consider this a personal one then.”

If what he was about to ask involved going to bed with him that would be easy enough to cross him off her list of future problems to worry about. She had the afternoon free.

“You have a perfectly fine machine that you’re about to abandon for an upgrade from the big men in dark suits. Is that correct?”

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Marisa,” he took the time to sound out her name. “You’ve seen what I do. You’ve learned from what I do. Wouldn’t it be some kind of poetry if the teacher uses the machine built by his student?”

“I never thought of our relationship like that.”

Bomani blushed. “Companions exchanging gifts, then. You’re not the only one with big plans.”

“I’d love to,” she pouted, “but the ink has yet to dry on my contract and I’m not sure I’d be allowed to let you look at my work. Regardless of its label as a prototype, they are quite precious about these things. I’m afraid I’m all tied up now. You should’ve arrived a month ago.”

“Will they notice?” He began to talk to her like she was a child. “The thing will collect cobwebs. I’m saving your work from neglect.”

“As I said, it is no longer up to me.” The golden monkey pawed at her feet. She looked down at him with a scowl. He had his own teeth bared. Now was not the time for a scuffle, but an intriguing idea passed between them. “I’m sincerely sorry. I may be able to give you a demonstration. It’s the least I can do.”

“At that dirty building down by the river?”

“All we had available to us before the Magisterium stepped in.”

“I thought Thuringia Potash was funding you.”

“Claim on the intellectual property, but no funding of any significant value.” Marisa pushed herself out of her chair before Bomani so much as returned his feet to the ground. “Come along! Before they take it to pieces.”

Bomani followed her with hands in his pockets. His daemon trailed behind the golden monkey swerving left to right never changing pace to catch up. They should have taken a car, but Marisa wanted to tucker him out. Walking to the lab by foot caused the heel of her shoe to dig into the tendon. She could feel the blood taking its course down her shoe pooling at her toes. Bomani, in flats, complained about the length of the journey each time she called for him to pick up the pace.

“Did you walk this whole way every time?” He groaned.

“We had to be paranoid when we started.”

They approached the great blank box of a building. The other day, Marisa had asked her team to purge the place of their work and any trace of their presence there. Knowing them to be slow on working through to-do lists, especially during times of celebration, everything should still be in place.

The door stuck at the opening forcing Marisa to kick the thing open with her bloody shoes. Inside, everything was as if she had left it completely undisturbed. The exception being anything of importance was covered with dirty plain tarps.

“Already in a state of becoming a relic.”

It was easy enough to figure that he meant it as an insult, but she took it as a compliment. She was leaving a piece of history behind her and her quarter life crisis had yet to start.

He was pulling at the tarps looking at the contraptions. In his mind it was already his. She had let him in the door and the goods had passed hands. The golden monkey occupied himself with the more mundane items in the office. Drawers rolled open and shut, but Bomani didn’t turn at the disturbance.

“Is this still connected to the power source?”

“Wouldn’t be a demonstration if it wasn’t.”

“I thought they got rid of your subjects.”

“Did you spend a spy to Geneva?” Her jaw went slack. The muscles around her eyes relaxing. “Bureaucracy moves at a glacial pace.”

He laughed it off as he traced the side of the silver blade. Marisa had never seen him look so tenderly at anything in the whole history of their acquaintance. The golden monkey returned to her side climbing up to her shoulder to fiddle with the lining of her collar.

She approached Bomani as he stroked the machine to place a gentle hand on his back. “You show a tremendous amount of courage in face of this.”

The words came out of his mouth wet. “I’ve been waiting for this for a very long time. You know, I’ve been thinking we should make this an official partnership. The Magisterium is due for a new perspective.” As he turned to look at her, her right hand brushed back a strand of hair that fell forward obscuring her face. It returned to view with a needle in her palm that soon found its home in Bomani’s neck.

Adults had a poorer survival rate with the intercision process than children, but Bomani was a man that always survived on his unnatural luck. Marisa had earnestly hoped it would support him in these critical moments. He and his daemon would be found together wandering the streets of London, confused and nameless.

The young woman who first discovered and reported him would be a passionate type with the sort of convictions that would lead her to ask too many questions.


	8. Time Considered

The light was unusually dim in the morning. It couldn’t be attributed to the common view of overcast grey skies in London. The air didn’t have the same blinding dullness. Stepping out onto her terrace, Marisa was confronted with the suffocating smell of fire that coated itself in her lungs. Her mind jumped to assume that it was another instance of the young and rowdy crowd setting fire to the Gyptian boats always desperate to make their feelings known.

But this fire was much closer. The breeze had pushed the darkest clouds over to her home making the stink all the more poignant. The golden monkey whined from the doorway, calling her inside. She shut up all the windows, but she had left it too long. Bits of ash arranged themselves in beautiful patterns on the floor.

She found herself pacing in the foyer. Today was like Christmas morning. The Magisterium would have to present to _her_ the schedule and designs for the future of the Oblation Board. She would sit behind her desk allowing them to read into long pauses and minute facial expressions. Maybe she would stop the meeting halfway through to go make herself a drink all the while asking them questions about their personal lives. Her daemon would watch theirs all while lazing on the floor.

Her heart skipped at beat at the sound of the grating bell. She stood still for a few moments before approaching so as not to appear too eager. The doors opened to reveal Father MacPhail and trailing behind him with a frown, Carlo.

“Good morning.” She watched their faces for a sign.

MacPhail was taking in the décor of the home twisting his head around the corners as he went past Marisa and down the hall. “Good morning, Mrs. Coulter. Shall we take this to your office?”

“Please show some restraint,” Carlo whispered.

Marisa forced him to continue on ahead of her as she regained her bearings on the situation. Carlo hadn’t sent any word ahead about his presence. Accompanying MacPhail either was an arm twist from a fellow Magisterium man or an impulsive protective measure in his own mind. She could only hope it was the former. Grizel slithered out of Carlo’s sleeve to take a backwards glance at the golden monkey.

What was it that got under her skin every time she was forced to work across from MacPhail? He wasn’t a particularly intimidating or important man. He was well respected for his short career, but he was also replaceable. If Marisa did away with this man, another clone copy of MacPhail would arrive on her door with the same certainty of permanence and power as the one that stood before her now. And _this_ was the man whose opinion she was subject to.

“I’m sure you’ve seen the clean-up job on your former work site.” MacPhail began speaking before Marisa could take her own seat. “Not exactly the low profile we had in mind.”

“The fire?” Marisa’s throat went dry at the image of it. “That was not my doing.”

“We know you have enough sense not to light the flame yourself.”

Carlo leaned forward mimicking earnestness, “It’s something I’ve suspected for some time, but had no concrete proof of their aim and didn’t want to trouble you over a flimsy theory. We suspect it may have been done by a couple of Oakley Street members.”

“A group of nobodies.” It came out of Marisa’s mouth so quickly she surprised herself. “You think this was them?”

“It wouldn’t be out of the question that they made a point to keep an eye on you.”

MacPhail shook his head. His daemon darted up to attention on his shoulder. “It can be hard to keep track of everyone you rub elbows with, I imagine.”

“This could be an attack on the Magisterium. It may not be specific to you.” Carlo hedged on himself.

MacPhail sighed. “Yes, not necessarily, but the point is that it is almost certainly Oakley Street activity that started the fire at a lab that formerly belonged to you. It isn’t the first time they’ve expressed interest in infiltrating a project of yours. The equipment was, thankfully, already shuttled out of there to Magisterium keeping. This project of yours requires a delicate touch and as you were reminded repeatedly discretion is key. We will be slowing down for the time being.”

The golden monkey opened his mouth. Marisa quickly grabbed the back of his neck as if to steady herself.

Carlo was still leaning forward, elbows on his knees. Marisa couldn’t help but think it would cause the fabric of his clothes to wrinkle. “You’ve already done so much to plan ahead. Think of it as a brief delay. Things will be up and running before you know it.”

“Brief is a subjective word.” A headache was forming in the front of her mind.

“It will be a quick run through. And in a few months-“

“Or years,” MacPhail interrupted.

“ _Years?”_

MacPhail cleared his throat. He changed his tone as if he was speaking to a child. “Yes, years. We don’t work so recklessly in the Magisterium. You will start again, and this time we will be there to make sure you little project is done with the utmost care and discretion. We don’t want to attract any attention, so until those responsible for this fire are under Magisterium custody, hold still. I know you’ll have to work against your instincts.”

“Everything I’ve already collected. We know which direction we need to be going in. Slowing down threatens my data.”

“You have a theory, but you can’t be sure. Now that you have a Magisterium stamp on your letterhead better to get things right the first time around. We require certainty. Look how many corpses you managed to collect in this time just by working alone. Look how many enemies are already waiting for you to fail.”

“You’re stalling me. By this rate, I won’t be able to publish anything until-“

He cleared his throat. “The work of a lifetime. A labor of love. Quite romantic, I think.”

“It’s for your safety,” said Carlo. “This attack could easily have come when you were still in that lab. The work is protected because of this partnership and now you have the resources to go after those who did this.”

Marisa was doing as Carlo asked and restrained herself by clutching onto the desk. She said nothing. MacPhail had continued on showing her the new contract drafts she was to take to her team. The nuisance was mostly polluted with language about non-disclosure and copyright clauses. It was all the things that permanently mingled Marisa’s blood with the Magisterium’s and it would keep her first silver guillotine shrouded and unused until further notice. The coming years would involve only ink, abstract designs on paper never coming to life until someone in an office decided things were sufficiently quiet enough for Marisa’s long-awaited return to the north. She had prematurely bought a new coat for the next winter.

Most of the time these meetings contain a wordless understanding between them. In some ways, it was simpler than before. They’ve ruined each other and themselves enough as it is. There was little more to prove. Or that’s what Marisa liked to think when she was in better spirits which for tonight she was decidedly not.

He was starting to feel like medication. If she kept seeking him out like this it would become a craving on a different level. Two instances of using him for comfort and it visibly unnerved him. She hoped the desperation would be attributed to the time gone by, but he could feel her looking for something in him that she hadn’t before. To her, she was only trying to tie herself to a solid object and nothing in her life has felt more certain than him. It must look a little ironic. The changes and the dramatics were volatile, to put it delicately, but that’s considering her as part of the equation at all.

On this evening, she was very much removed from the equation. She’s washing up on unfamiliar shores moments before being pulled back into the darker blue. The equation of Asriel without her is a submarine volcano in the deepest depths of the oceanic trenches. She wanted to drown herself in his inevitability. There was one ending for him while she could scarcely picture her middle. She wanted to be here with him now, but she couldn’t help but float backwards and forwards through time. Her future stalled outside in the night air.

For the first time it came to her attention that she has divided her life into a before and an after.

“Your friends burned down my lab.”

He lifted himself up on his elbow to support his head with his hand. “When did this happen? And who?”

“You know who and it happened right around the time you came back.” She was staring at the ceiling. “I could have died.”

“Were you there when it happened?”

“No, the place was empty.”

“Not a quick bunch, are they?” He placed his hand over her lips and nose pretending to suffocate her. “I take it things are looking up if you’ve encouraged people to want you and your work wiped from this earth.”

He dropped himself on his back with a groan. He wasn’t going to bother entertaining this line of questioning seriously. Marisa wondered if this was his way of being considerate.

“It’s her birthday. That’s why I came back.”

She got up to dress. “Is she old enough to remember those?”

“I thought you knew. I assumed you came trying to capitalize on a sentimental mood.”

“Are you feeling sentimental?”

“You really thought I would concern myself over your refreshed relationship with the Magisterium?”

He was keeping an ear out after all. Though he tried to mock her the comment was a silent win.

“It’s not her birthday today.”

“Tomorrow, yes. You remember?”

“A day that visceral? That isn’t easy to forget. Tomorrow I’ll be bedridden. It’s like clockwork.”

“Really?” He sat up. It was a pattern of morbid intrigue for the knowledge of what successfully got to her. He used to listen to her tell him about her early years in various sick beds. His hand would land on her right tibia asking _here_ and _how_. “At the stroke of two thirteen?”

He had accepted that making a second play for her would fail. The heels were on her feet which meant this goodbye back and forth was sincere and he was not to challenge it. “What are you giving her?”

“Hm? I’m not sure there is much she can really make use of or appreciate at this age and she grows too quickly to be worth spending money on clothes for.”

“Nothing?” the surprise in her voice was genuine. “The pleasure of your company?”

“It’s more than enough for you. Especially considering this setback of yours.”

A comment that would have been playful in an earlier time, but there she is slipping into the before again. She can’t help it this existing in two space-times at once with him. A little grounding in her mind and she settled herself back in the now.

“Considering what I started with, I’d disagree with your statement.”

Asriel called Stelmaria to his side to be away from the golden monkey. He stroked her neck, but a more watchful eye could see him holding her in place. “If you believed that, you wouldn’t be here. Though I still wonder what you were consoling yourself over the last time you had your way with me.”

The golden monkey growled. With any luck, Asriel would interpret the impulsive outburst as a wounded ego. Stelmaria purred at the response.

Marisa relaxed. “And how you ran ready to be used.”

“Entering your bed requires less humility than jumping in with the Magisterium.”

“You’ve made your opinion of my work more than abundantly clear.” Marisa rolled her eyes. “This bit with you has gotten rather boring.”

Asriel scratched behind Stelmaria’s ears. “You’re right. It’s time we start getting more adventurous with our barbs. Next time, I’ll be ready. You’ve soaked me in too much tokay this evening.”

She had fed him nips from her own glass. It was the only way they could drink together and maintain at least one level of ease between them: one large glass and one large pour being passed back and forth in their hands. This evening, she had been the only one to continue refilling the drink.

Her hand landed on the door handle. “I’m supposed to accept for now that you know nothing about the fire?”

“Marisa,” he took his time to sound out her name, “Those people don’t know how to prioritize.”

She returned home with her daemon in arms. His eyes were half closed carrying the brunt of the fatigue shared between them. The sky was clear this late in the night and if not for the light pollution, Marisa would have been tempted to name the constellations. A jolt of adrenaline shot through her as she saw beams shooting into the hallway from her living room.

The golden monkey turned away from Marisa and softly landed on the floor. She remained behind as he went ahead to inspect the source. Her gun was in her bedroom requiring travel through the hall and exposing to herself to whoever sat waiting. She put her key between her knuckles. Swinging herself around the corner she was confronted with no one.

Papers were strewn about the room marked by her red annotations. She forgot to clean up after herself when she left. But was this mess from earlier today? Yesterday? The day before that? It was becoming hard to tell. She had been working independently with her greatest level of contact being scraps of messages delivered back in forth in locked boxes. These boxes required a Magisterium key attached to a lackey. This man, a boy as Marisa guessed he may have been in his late teens, was required to witness Marisa opening and responding to these messages. Father MacPhail emphasized that the performance was for her benefit more than anyone else’s.

Marisa considered calling for Adele to handle this mess, but the young woman hadn’t returned since Marisa threw a cup of hot chocolatl at her head. As if willing her here, Marisa noticed a box left on the side table. A pastel pink bow wrapped itself around the marble patterned paper of the gift. It looked like a gift, though Marisa had enough sense not to suspect a lift in her mood.

Undoing the bow carefully, she flipped open the top letting it fall to the floor. There was nothing inside worth the drama of its presentation. Adele returned the keys she kept, the schedule book, and all the correspondence between them during her employment. These small return items were lined by old newspaper clippings.

The golden monkey took these from the box and became flattening out the wrinkles. Marisa wanted to immediately throw them out, but as she reached for the paper her daemon pulled them out of her range. Looking over her daemon’s shoulder, she read.

The first clipping was recently dated. A newspaper, an independently financed one of no consequence, reported on the fires down by the lab. Marisa had suggested that the Magisterium let the fire spread to the neighboring buildings so as not to attract suspicion over what inspired the targeted attack. She remembered this idea was met with great appreciation and enthusiasm with no fight over whose homes may be lost in the process. The second was dated farther back. This time a national news source. The print was small and based on the cut of the paper, the article must have been squeezed in to the side of the page like an afterthought.

Whoever the journalist was, they showed great disdain for the story that they were assigned. The assumption was that the man must have been a drunk wandering around in the dark. The poor fool probably didn’t notice he was drowning. There was no evidence of alcohol in his system, but an old man with no known relations must have been a worthless layabout. The golden monkey closed this piece in his hand.

Dated the previous day, the third and last had nothing to do with Marisa at all. News had broken that Father MacPhail would be one of the few considered for quite a high position with the Consistorial Court of Discipline. It felt like Marisa was impaled with a hot iron. This was Adele’s final remark on her opinion of Marisa. She was a lost cause of no use to anyone, certainly not Adele. Marisa would be stuck under the people that resented her most. She would be forced to get by with gasps of breath before being shoved under water yet again. Marisa wanted to collapse just thinking about it.

The golden monkey teared up the papers. He ran circles around the room gathering up the scattered ones left by Marisa. They still contained her ambition. He shoved the stacks in front of her, patting the papers each time, looking up for approval. Marisa only saw the timeline of her work extending out in front of her. It was the boulder she would continue to roll up the same mountain until her body gave out on her.

Adele had cut her ties. MacPhail was gaining too much power too quickly to do anything about. Her own experimental theologians were now loyal to a different income source, that or they had been disposed of during the Magisterium’s vetting process. She should lay down and sleep. Let the despair take her for the evening.

Then a golden glowing error caught her eye. There was a misstep in the calculation off by a fraction of a whole number, but would serve to produce an assembly line of _zombis_. The numbers reminded her of Bomani, but who would he have contacted in the Magisterium if not her? She pictured another person in another dimension of space.

She would wait until the ideal moment to fix this problem for them. The Magisterium always underestimated how much they needed saving from themselves. They resisted her when it came to the dream of controlling the Rusakov Particle in the beginning. She would let them hold up MacPhail as their rising star for now. The man only had vision when it came to destruction. He had no sense of creativity for a new and better future. A better life.

Marisa gathered her papers in her arms and went off to bed. The golden monkey closed the gift box and turned off the lights behind her. Tomorrow, she would start again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOF! Nearly 25K in four weeks. Thanks for everyone who stuck around for this sprint. I hope you enjoyed it!

**Author's Note:**

> The theory of Thuringia Potash being connected to the Delamare family comes from the ao3 user, vivial. Read more about it here: https://tinyurl.com/y3hnxokh


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